Heroes for Ghosts
by Rienna Hawkes
Summary: As the first war gathers steam, Lily and James work to build a life together, while Lucius and Narcissa's fragile world collapses. Severus copes with the consequences of his choices, and Peter encounters a temptation that will define him. Sequel to Buried Treasure and Transmogrify.
1. Prologue: Earthquakes and Lightning

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

****Rated M for:** Graphic depictions of violence and sex, language.

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><p><em>"I see a bad moon a-risin'<br>__I see trouble on the way  
><em>_I see earthquakes and lightnin'  
><em>_I see bad times today."  
><em>-Creedence Clearwater Revival  
>"Bad Moon Rising" (1969)<p>

**Prologue: Earthquakes and Lightning**

_November 14, 1978_

It was a cold and windy night and Lily Evans was acutely aware of her discomfort. The insides of her ears hurt, exposed and frozen. She was not dressed warmly enough to be sitting outdoors on the small stone bench, yet she did not move. The agony of the moment was not due to the weather, but rather the waiting.

James. Where was James?

The wizarding world afforded many conveniences, but quick communication to someone across the country was not necessarily one of them. She had sent him an owl…four hours ago? Seven? She wasn't sure. Time was blurry. Every minute felt like an hour and every hour felt like a minute. How long had she been sitting outside the hospital waiting? She could not say. Even the watch on her wrist told her nothing because she could not recall when this had all begun.

She was seated sideways on the bench now and she pulled her corduroy-covered knees close to her. Her near-numb fingers were idly fumbling over a piece of metal that was alternately both warm and chilled, as her body heat and the frigid air fought for dominance. She opened and shut, opened and shut her father's cigarette lighter.

James would be coming. He would receive her owl and arrive any moment now. She would not have to face this alone with Petunia and strangers. James would come.

Open. Shut. Open. Shut. She did not even attempt to light it; no flame would survive this gale.

* * *

><p>A tree branch hit Lucius Malfoy's face none to gently. He had not seen it, running through the dark as he had been. He felt the rough bark tear at his skin, and he stopped for a moment to assess the damage.<p>

Not too deep, but the skin was definitely broken. There was blood, trickling warmly from the gash and mingling with the rain. Lucius swore bitterly. He would get an earful about this from Narcissa, no doubt.

He sighed and strained to gather the motivation to begin running again. McNair was far enough ahead that he hadn't noticed that Lucius had stopped, and Snape was far enough behind. Their quarry, one Gallrick Mountjoy was very much ahead, so far so it seemed futile to give chase. Lucius was exhausted and more wheezing than breathing.

_He saw your face, Lucius_, he reminded himself. _He knows who you are_.

That was enough to get his feet moving once more. He darted through the trees, though more carefully than he had been before. Soon they would be to the edge of the McNair property and there would no longer be wards blocking one's ability to Apparate and Disapparate. If Mountjoy successfully escaped, he would be able to tell the world about their plucky little Death Eater outpost. The contraband, the rituals, the interrogation room. What was left of Wanda Bones.

It was ugly business for certain, but there were no alternative options left to be had. Mountjoy must be returned to the cottage cellar at all costs.

* * *

><p>James Potter was out of his depth; he had neither the knowledge of the Muggle world to understand what had happened to Lily's parents, nor the emotional worldliness to manage the death of an immediate family member, let alone two.<p>

When he had arrived to find Lily curled up on the bench, her nose and ears chapped red from the elements, there had been a desperation in her eyes. She was counting on him to help her make sense of this all. He had a role to play in this, a calling he was to fulfill. Amid the talk of an "automobile accident" and "surgery" James found himself overcome by not understanding very much at all. The Muggle doctor kept going on and on, and it was all gibberish. James knew it was not a time to ask questions. Lily understood perfectly.

As the doctor talked, she became more and more rigid beside him. It made her seem fragile, like glass that would shatter if nudged just so. He took her hand in his, and she squeezed it to the point of painfulness. The only part of this mess that was clear was that Lily's parents had died within the past hour.

Lily's sister Petunia was there in the room with them. James knew her by name only. He did not see much of his warm and vibrant girlfriend in her, nevertheless she, like Lily, had grown still, quiet as the details were delivered. Petunia's boyfriend, a man called Vernon, was doing most of the talking. Actually, it began as talking but was now more like yelling.

The way he spoke to the hospital staff, it was as though he believed them responsible by way of negligence for the deaths. While James' limited perspective on these people and just what their jobs entailed did not allow him to guess whether this was true or not, he could clearly see that Vernon's shouting was helping absolutely no one.

It was easily one of the most uncomfortable moments of James' life. He found himself feeling sorry for everyone in the room. He was overwhelmed by his alien-ness and his uselessness.

The shouting finally subsided when Petunia reached out one of her slight, pale hands and gently touched Vernon's ruddy arm. He silenced immediately, and she stumbled bonelessly into his arms.

After a moment the doctor excused himself. James found himself taking a cue from the other couple in the room: he pulled Lily close. In that first moment she remained rigid…but then she broke, collapsing into him and sobbing like he had never heard anyone sob before. James held her tight, not allowing her to pull back. He couldn't let her see his face; if she saw that, she would know just how lost he really was.

James met eyes with Petunia's boyfriend. He had taking an instant dislike to this beefy, neckless, bellowing man. Yet in this moment he and James understood one-another perfectly, they had everything in the world in common: the women that they loved were in pain and they could do nothing about it. Nothing.

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><p>This was not the way things were supposed to be. This was not the plan.<p>

Severus Snape found himself, for the second time in one night, face to face with a lifeless body of his own making.

It didn't make sense. Mountjoy had escaped on foot, run away from the cottage _on foot_. McNair, Malfoy, and Severus had given chase, but McNair was obviously the one who would catch him. Severus spent all his time in musty rooms brewing potions, he could not even recall with clarity the last time he had physically exerted himself. Malfoy was a dandy who paid others to do manual labor for him. But this was McNair's property. The oversized lout had grown up here, knew the lay of the land blindfolded and drunk. McNair climbed trees and bashed in heads for fun.

So Severus had run after the escaped prisoner, but only to be seen doing it, only because it was expected. Clearly he wouldn't be the one to find Mountjoy, either doubling back as part of a misguided strategy or very lost, leaning against a tree, his bald pate in his hands.

Severus had called out to the man without thinking, but that had not gone his way. He had found himself giving chase again, his side feeling as though it was split open and breathing like he had never tasted air before. In a moment of desperation that would haunt him for years to come, Severus shot a blasting curse at the tree near Mountjoy.

It wasn't much of a plan, but if there had been any rationale, it was that perhaps the commotion would cause the man to lose balance, make him stumble or trip. Instead, Severus' spell caused the tree to explode, wooden shrapnel flying in every direction, and straight through the flesh of Gallrick Mountjoy. Merlin, the man looked as though he'd been hit with a meat tenderizer and then run over by a stampede of bicorn.

Severus felt the bile in his throat, but that was as far as it went. He refused to be sick over this. He cried two or three angry tears before reining himself in firmly.

Just months ago he had been eyeing a bloodied, poisoned Sirius Black and vowing that he would not become a killer. It seemed that carpet had flown regardless.

It was almost fifteen minutes before Malfoy and McNair found Severus and the body. The carcass was prone on the ground, the still-warm blood seeping into the dried leaves. Severus sat beside it like a friend, bundled in his cloak, dead-eyed and greasy hair dampened from the intermittent rain. It was dark, but moonlight painted enough of the scene.

"Good Lord!" Malfoy recoiled, only to turn back for a closer look. That scrutiny led to retching.

McNair took a different view. "Not bad, half-blood."

Severus said nothing.

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><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Apparently, ask and ye shall receive. Many said that they would be interested in this endeavor, and the truth is I just had too many good ideas to pass up the opportunity anyway. I can't promise how often I'll be able to update (keep in mind that I am working full time and going to school), but I will do what I can. I know that this little teaser isn't very long, but it's just a prologue; chapters will be quite a bit meatier. If you haven't read _Buried Treasure and Transmogrify_, you will still probably be able to follow the story pretty well, but for full effect, I recommend going back to read it.

Part of my inspiration for this fic was the evocative music of this era. The 70s were a pretty turbulent time, for Muggles and wizards alike, and much of the music reflects that. Being something of a classic rock geek, I found that I couldn't resist adding a little flavor. The title of this story comes from the Pink Floyd song _Wish You Were Here_, and the title of each chapter will be from a song of the era.

Thank you to anyone who stopped by for a read!


	2. The Sun Could Never Thaw Away

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

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><p><em>"The rain is falling through the mist<br>__Of sorrow that surrounded me.  
><em>_The sun could never thaw away  
><em>_The bliss that lays around me.  
><em>_Let it rain, let it rain,  
><em>_Let your love rain down on me."  
><em>Eric Clapton  
>"Let it Rain" (1970)<p>

**Chapter 01: The Sun Could Never Thaw Away**

"Well, I don't care for it. It isn't proper," James' mother sniffed over her teacup, the motion pulling at the wrinkles on her face.

Exasperated, James looked to his father for support, but found only a wall formed by the _Daily Prophet_. It was the patriarch's tried and true method for keeping peace within the household by picking his battles. It seemed this battle was not so chosen. James was on his own.

"She needs a place to stay. Being in her childhood home is painful right now, and she and her sister do not get on well." James said as evenly as he could manage, though he knew it may just be futile. His mother was full of arbitrary old-fashioned notions, and no amount of logic or changing times could seem to make a dent in them. It was worth noting, however, that she was rarely as tenacious or as prim as what he was seeing today. She even looked the part, with her crème-colored robes buttoned all the way up to her throat.

"The Leaky Cauldron has rooms, I am certain."

"Mother," James said with a little less composure than he intended. "Lily is staying with me. That's not changing."

Philippa Potter made a little noise in that back of her throat that informed James that the subject was hardly closed. "Are you attending the funeral?"

"Of course," James said while helping himself to another fruit tart.

His mother nodded. "I shall have Bitsy prepare your black robes."

"It's a Muggle funeral, mother. I'll wear a suit. Remus knows a tailor."

His mother pursed her lips in disapproval. "All right then." For a foolish moment James thought that was the final word. "I still say that you look smart in your robes."

"He'll look smart in a suit as well, dear," a deep voice came from behind the _Prophet_.

James rolled his eyes in frustration. _This_ was the debate upon which his father deigned to offer an opinion.

Mrs. Potter set her empty teacup in its saucer. "So, when do I get to meet the young woman who is living with my son?"

Here James fumbled a bit. Lily was fragile right now and he wasn't sure that it was the best time to be introducing her to new people who would grill her, poke her, prod her. Particularly people of the parental variety—that was no doubt a sore subject just now.

"Soon," he evaded.

"Ah," said his mother. "Well, if she was one of those girls, Jamie, you should have simply said so."

"Those girls?" James snapped.

Mrs. Potter shrugged. "Those girls you waste time with and never bring home. Although, I must say, if she is it is even more shameful that you have allowed her to move into your flat."

And right there, James had reached his fill of his mother's antics for the day.

He rose to his feet, plunking his plate down on the tea table. "Lily is not 'one of those girls' mother. She's _the_ girl. I'm going to marry her."

That shut her up. James enjoyed the stunned look on her face, and his father even lowered his newspaper.

"You…are getting married?" Mrs. Potter was quite breathless at his declaration.

James realized he couldn't very well answer definitively, and he instantly regretted his impulsiveness. He hadn't even broached the subject of the future with Lily. Nevertheless, he was sure of his feelings. He found himself looking down at the carpet rather than meeting either parent's eyes. "If she'll have me. Honestly, I haven't asked her yet."

His mother leaped to her feet and he found himself pulled tightly into her embrace. The hug was unexpectedly long and when she pulled back there were tears in her eyes. "Of course she'll have you," she beamed. She took a deep breath and then dramatically fanned herself with her gloved hand. "Oh, I am so very pleased! Do not move, Jamie. I must fetch you something so that you can do this properly."

She fluttered out of the room in a tizzy, and James found himself a little stunned and alone with his father.

Francis Potter folded up his copy of the _Prophet_ neatly. "You fell right into that," he informed his son.

"Huh?"

"Your mother is just curious about your life. She's always going on and on about how you never tell her anything important anymore." Mr. Potter smoothed his gray hair and reached for his teacup. "This tasty little morsel will keep her happy for a while, but it's a bit much, isn't it?"

James was not quite sure whether or not he had been played by his mother, and even less sure of whether or not his father was playing him right now. In James' experience, his mother was utterly transparent, an open book no matter how hard she tried. But his father? That man could turn any situation to his favor, manipulate so well you weren't even aware of it after the fact.

His defenses were up. "What's a bit much?"

"Declaring your intention to marry this girl. It's a little early for that, don't you think?"

James lifted his chin. "I've known Lily since the day I started Hogwarts. We've been dating for a year."

Mr. Potter chuckled amicably as he cleaned his glasses with a handkerchief. "That wasn't my meaning."

"Then what was?"

"Son, you are only eighteen. You have all the time in the world to be married, but a very limited window to enjoy being young."

James understood what his father was trying to say, but he was unmoved. "One year or seventy years, either would be better with Lily than without her."

His father considered that, then shrugged. He rose to his feet. "Well, it's apparent that you have made up your mind. You are of age and I trust your judgment." He shook James' hand and then hugged him. "Best of luck, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

Mrs. Potter came tittering back into the room with a tiny box clutched in hand. It was blue velvet brocade and James had never seen it before. Her manner reminded him of Christmas morning when she was particularly excited about the gift he was about to open.

Though James had not known of its existence, he did have an idea as to what the box contained. When she unfixed the latch and lifted the lid, he was proven right.

The band of the ring was gold woven in an intricate pattern of knots. The head was enameled with four petals forming a white flower, surrounded by polished garnet.

"It's been in my family for hundreds of years," he mother declared proudly. "The story is that one of my ancestors was a childhood sweetheart of King Wulfhere."

"I thought she was his mistress," his father said mildly.

Mrs. Potter shushed him and swatted his arm lightly, then found she could not resist his smile, and decided to kiss him on the cheek instead. "Well," she sighed. "Whatever is true, it's been handed down through your Brackenbury side for a great many years. It's not as elegant as some of the rings you see these days, but it's well made and very beautiful. The band is enchanted to size itself according to the finger. You may give it to your Lily, if you like."

James was a bit dumbfounded. He had not been expecting something quite so…old and full of family history. "Really?"

His mother stroked the side of his face lightly. "As long as I get to meet her," she teased.

James took the box from his mother and thanked her. It was another hour or so before he was able to excuse himself to leave. He Apparated to his flat in London and knew straightaway that Lily was not home. There was no music playing, no cooking smells, no snoring. The warmth that came with Lily was not present.

He sighed. She was likely across the hall, visiting Sirius.

James placed one of the plates of biscuits his mother had sent with him down in the kitchen, and then made his way to the bedroom.

The flat was small, but James liked that. The bed he shared with Lily was overlarge for the room but the perfect size for comfort. Initially, the room had been a colorless thing, but with Lily had come light blues, a bedside table lamp with cut glass depicting sunflowers, and crates of Muggle music records—a handful of which always seemed to be scattered on the floor, desk, or bed rather than their proper place.

James walked to his desk and opened the drawer. There was a secret compartment he had added almost a year ago to hide correspondence from his mother. There was more than enough room for a ring box.

It wasn't the time, he knew. Lily wasn't ready. He would wait until she was ready. He secreted away the ring and closed the desk.

He then Apparated over to Sirius' kitchen with the second plate of biscuits in hand.

Sirius was crouched, reaching into a cupboard for something and startled so violently that he nearly hit his head. "Fucking hell, Prongs! What's wrong with you?"

James held up the plate. "From Mother."

Sirius jumped to his feet. He sniffed the baked goods and grinned. "Ah, Mum Potter's cooking. You know what this means?"

"What?"

"It means fuck the potatoes and asparagus, that's what it means. This is now my dinner."

"Mother would be so pleased."

Sirius shrugged. "Ta!" he said before tearing into a biscuit. "Oh my god," he was talking with his mouth full. "Extra pecans."

"Yep, just for you."

"Well, I am the favorite."

James rolled his eyes. "Is Lily here?"

Sirius was already eating his second selection from the plate, but he indicated in the affirmative and led James to the sofa where Lily had fallen asleep reading. She looked snug in an oversized wooly jumper he suspected may have belonged to her father, and her platform shoes had been kicked off and rested on the hardwood floor.

"She been like that long?" James asked quietly.

"An hour or two."

"Will you get the door for me?" James gestured with his head. Lily was a fairly heavy sleeper, but the squeezing sensation of Apparition would wake her for certain and he didn't want to disturb her if possible.

"Sure."

James crouched, lacing the straps of her shoes through his fingers, then slid one arm under her knees and another around her shoulders and lifted, taking care to jostle her as little as possible and keep the book that rested on her chest from falling.

Sirius had not only opened his own door, but James' as well. James thanked him with a nod and continued on into his flat, closing his door behind him with the gentle push of his foot. He carried her to the bed and maneuvered as best he could to get her under the blankets. He gently removed her denim jeans, but left the bulky jumper, the camisole, and the knickers in place. He magically marked her page in the book and left it on her bedside table, then returned her shoes to the closet.

Lily properly cared for, James gathered his work from his desk and took it out to his own sofa. Pumpkin the cat emerged from wherever she had been burrowing and curled up behind his neck, across the crest of the furniture. He settled in for an evening of Transfiguration proofs for a job he would like to get at the Ministry. The flat was quiet as he worked, but it was not empty and Lily's presence made all the difference.

* * *

><p>"Don't touch that!"<p>

Peter Pettigrew's hand snapped back, away from the augurey in a nearby cage.

"They're not pets."

His new boss, a man with a green bowtie called Cornelius Fudge, seemed to have decided he was an idiot.

"I'm sorry," Peter squeaked.

"You're here to monitor the animals, not to play with them. People's lives depend on it." Fudge sighed and then continued the tour.

The color took time to fade from Peter's face. Tonight was his first shift with the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, an actual job. His first night as a grown-up and he was already fouling it up. He dreaded the possibility of embarrassing his mother, who had recommended him for this employment, and resolved not to touch anything or say anything for the rest of the orientation.

The position wasn't difficult; in one of the lower levels of the Ministry, a collection of prescient animals was kept to serve as part of an alarm system for determining when danger and death were imminent. Peter's job was to monitor them, report if any of them were set off. He was also supposed to feed them. But they weren't pets; he'd been told that at least five times. They had numbers, not names. Auguries, clabberts, wupples, and kneazles, each with their own hall, and he was supposed to make his rounds once every half hour.

The sphinx had a room to herself. She was not part of Peter's rounds; her feeding was during the day hours. He was not to interact with the sphinx. He was not to look at her or speak to her, even if she addressed him (she wouldn't). Only Unspeakables were permitted to speak with the sphinx. Peter was not permitted to speak with the Unspeakables.

Sometimes Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would come down and check out a kneazle to aid in an interrogation or investigation. There was a complicated series of forms that were filled out in that event, and Peter had a stack of them on his desk. Blue forms were for taking the kneazles, green forms were for returning them, and red forms were for if something untoward happened to the kneazle in the line of duty. Ministry ghosts were not permitted to check out the kneazles. Anyone who checked out a kneazle had to provide two forms of identification.

Peter felt overwhelmed, but kept nodding at Fudge as though he understood.

The two of them finished what would have been one of Peter's rounds only to return to his desk. Peter had been about to ask whether or not he would be working the night shift alone when the lift dinged and opened.

The loveliest woman Peter had ever seen breezed into the lobby area where the five department desks were located. She had long, chestnut colored hair that went to her waist and large eyes. Her flattering robes were teal, and diamond stud earrings twinkled in her ears. She waved at Fudge and then settled herself into the desk that was next to Peter's.

Fudge kept talking to Peter as though he hadn't noticed the incredible distraction that had just sauntered into the room. Peter struggled to focus.

"You will arrive for your shift at ten sharp each day, one minute late is late."

"Yes, sir," Peter was quick to agree.

"Your break to eat is at two, and you will be relieved by the morning crew at six. Unspeakables will arrive at midnight each shift to ensure that the sensory connections between the animals and their assigned cities are intact. You do not speak to the Unspeakables."

Peter was already nodding before Fudge finished. "Of course."

The young woman spoke and Peter found himself melting at the sound. "Is he Jugson's replacement?" she asked.

Fudge answered in the affirmative. She looked him up and down, then Peter's heart sank as he watched her instantaneously dismiss him. She pulled out a copy of _Transfiguration Today_, found a previously marked page and settled herself to read.

"That's Farrah Ingram. She will be working the night shift with you," Fudge informed him.

She waved without looking up from her magazine.

"Have you any questions for me, Pettigrew?"

"No, sir," he stammered.

At that, Fudge left Peter with a detailed itinerary of his duties, and promptly the room fell quiet.

Peter had not known that he would have so much free time with this position, and thus had neglected to bring any reading material. Several times he almost said something to Farrah, but lost his nerve each time.

The only sound in the room came from a clabbert in a large cage installed in the wall across from him, near the entrance that led to the hall of kneazles. The creature moved with slow, deliberate movements as it chomped on leaves. After observing the clabbert for several minutes, Peter decided that he liked it. Primate-like but green, and with huge eyes that couldn't help but appear friendly and innocent, the animal shyly hid behind the trunk of the fake tree within his enclosure when it noticed the human's scrutiny. This made Peter feel guilty, and he stopped staring.

An hour into his shift, following his first proper lap of rounds, found him using the kneazle Accidental Death forms to fold flowers like James had showed him once. He found with a little trial and error that he even remembered how to do some of the birds.

The lift opened around midnight and two young men in dark robes entered. Peter recognized at once from the tiny silver badges around their collars that they were Unspeakables, but they didn't fit the mental image of what he had expected. They were young, probably in their mid-twenties at most, and they were laughing. One had the collar of his robes unbuttoned and looked as though he had not shaved in days. As they advanced into the reception area, the one on the left made his way to Farrah's desk directly. He was the more polished of the two, and he was quite handsome. He had overgrown dark blond hair that fell just so, in a manner that seemed both deliberate and careless—like Sirius' hair.

"Hello beautiful," he greeted Farrah, who was already setting aside her magazine to give the visitor her full attention. Peter's stomach sickened as he watched the two of them begin to flirt.

The other Unspeakable, the disheveled one, cautiously approached Peter's desk. He took in the sight of this nervous young man with colorless hair and the folded red orchids and cranes that littered his workspace.

"Where's Jugson?"

"Sacked," Farrah pulled her attention away from her admirer to answer.

A lift of an eyebrow. "Like that, is it?" the Unspeakable shook his head. But it seemed that Farrah had estimated her involvement concluded.

After studying Peter, the Unspeakable extended his hand. "My name's Rookwood."

Peter stared at the hand, unsure whether or not to take it. Fudge's instructions were still ringing in his ears: "Don't speak with the Unspeakables!"

But if Farrah's behavior was any indication, this was a rule selectively followed. Peter met eyes with the young man called Rookwood. He was a tall, thin man who had the look of someone who had slouched his entire life. The skin of his face was slightly pockmarked, and his green eyes were sharp with intelligence. His hair was long, like his companion's, but had been tied back, revealing a tattoo of an eagle on the left side of his neck.

Peter took his hand and shook it. "Pettigrew," he tried to say with confidence he did not feel.

Rookwood grinned, "Nice to meet you. First day?"

Peter nodded.

"You'll get the hang of it," Rookwood assured him. "Did they give you the keys to your desk, Pettigrew?"

After a moment of hesitation, he dug into the pockets of his robes and produced the key ring.

"Would you be so kind as to check the second drawer down on your left for a letter for me? Jugson said he had something for me."

He blinked at the oddness of the request, but Rookwood was poised and businesslike, and Peter found himself unlocking the drawer. Sure enough, there was an envelope addressed to "A. Rookwood" underneath a paperback novel called _Her Intemperate Desires_. Peter's face colored at the picture of the entwined, windswept, and half-dressed couple on the cover, and quickly replaced the book face-down in the drawer.

He held the sealed parchment out to Rookwood.

"Much thanks," the Unspeakable said as he tucked the letter into his robes.

"What is it?" Peter asked without really considering his words.

The look on Rookwood's face wasn't really a glare, but it wasn't friendly either. "I don't think that's really any of your business Pettigrew, do you?"

Peter looked away, abashed.

"Avery," Rookwood called to the other young man, and then indicated with his head toward the halls of the animals. "It's time to do our job."

Avery gave Farrah a shrug and a regretful smile. He left her with a kiss on the cheek and she had a smile on her face that lasted for more than an hour.

* * *

><p>The clock on the bookshelf across the room turned over from the eleven o'clock hour to midnight. Narcissa Malfoy heaved a sad sigh that was nearly a whimper.<p>

He had promised, _promised_ that he would be here. So where was he?

She had been a married woman for five months, and two of those months she had slept alone.

The window rattled with wind and moonlight painted her world gray. She swept the blankets off her legs and rose to her feet. She found herself walking to that window and she climbed into the cushioned window-seat. Her lacy peignoir was the absolute opposite of modesty, but no one would be out there to see it.

No one was in here to see it.

The gardens of Malfoy Manor were illuminated below her by the almost full moon. The pond was dotted with water lilies and the willows bent over the water prettily. She wiped her tears from her face, and drew in a breath to clear her airways. She rested her head against the glass as she curled her limbs close.

Narcissa remembered the first time she saw this house, these gardens. She had been fifteen and it was a beautiful day in June. Lucius had taken her up on his broom, pulling her snug against him. She had felt a thrill go through her at the time, though her naïve young self would not have been able to say whether that was a result of the height or the boy. The house was perfect, the grounds were perfect, and the boy was perfect. She had vowed to herself that day that it would all be hers. She had been such a fool.

Everything was complicated, everything had strings and caveats. Lucius may be her great love, but was not his own man by any measure. He served two men of high expectations, two men who had not figured Narcissa into their calculations at all and quite resented her presence: his father, and his Dark Lord.

Narcissa had known about the Dark Lord before the wedding, and honestly hadn't minded the idea. It seemed so brave and noble of Lucius, standing up for his beliefs, fighting for a better future. She had not considered how far and how frequently that fight would take her love away from her. But perhaps that would all be bearable if it were not for the other master.

One day this house would be Narcissa's but today it really belonged to another, her father-in-law, Abraxas Malfoy.

Abraxas was…difficult. He was unpredictable. And under his rule, this house which she had so coveted was a prison. Even in the supposed seclusion and privacy of the East Wing, where she and Lucius had set up house, she always felt watched, trapped. Every hour of how she decided to spend her time was scrutinized and judged, every action that she took was restricted. She had no idea how the man could manage that while still talking about her as though she was not present, and it was no better when Lucius was home, because the old man was the same with his son. Her own father had been a strict and formidable man while she was growing up, but at least the House Elves were not too afraid to speak.

Many of her old hobbies had been deemed unsuitable by her father-in-law and were thus abandoned. She had not hunted, baked, flown, or gone shopping since taking up residence at Malfoy Manor. She had always idolized girl groups like the Merlin's Beards and the Cornish Pixies, which had led to guitar lessons, but Abraxas disapproved and she had only played the piano in recent weeks. Still, while she missed her guitar, neglected in its case at the back of a closet, she was grateful for the piano and spent much of her time in the ballroom where the acoustics were perfection. Composing music seemed to be the only hobby of hers that gained her any sort of approval from the master of the house.

In the evenings she took long walks through the grounds. In the mornings she spent hours on correspondence, writing her parents, her sister Bella, her friends Aurora and Ellie, even her ex-boyfriend Winston once, just to see how studying old caves in Russia was treating him. And of course, she would write to Lucius—daily when he was not present, and he had not been present for officially two weeks as of midnight tonight.

Marriage was supposed to be a binding of two people, a promise of eternal companionship. So how could it possibly be that she was so lonely?

With a deep breath, she rose from her seat decisively. She was losing sleep for nothing. Lucius had been held up again and he would not be coming tonight. There was nothing to be gained but misery in waiting up for him. She resolved to get herself a snack from the kitchens and then it would be time to sleep.

* * *

><p>The sun had decided to come out for, of all things, a funeral. The sky was the clearest it had been since the beginning of October and the effect was almost one of disrespect. The world was indifferent and cruel like that, Severus had noted on many occasions.<p>

Regardless of the sunshine, he wore a long black winter cloak, and he felt slightly over-warm even though he was standing in the shade. He was some distance from the service, though he was close enough that there could be no mistaking that the Evans burial was his reason for being in the old graveyard today.

As it was a monument of his childhood home, the graveyard was quite familiar to Severus. Generations of Snapes had been buried here. He and his grandfather had gathered asphodel and belladonna within the gates for their grand potion brewing experiments in his boyhood. The gargoyle and angel statues had played a major role in the games he and Lily had enjoyed as children. In fact, Severus almost felt that the graveyard was entirely too familiar given the fact that it had been nearly four years since he had set foot in it.

Four years since…. Well, he was here now.

He was of two minds about that. He was here because Lily's parents were dead and he felt as though he should be here. That was one side of it, the side that didn't question or doubt. Lily was in pain, so Severus showed support, devotion. It was simple and direct.

The other mind was acutely aware of the uselessness of this gesture, the superfluous nature of Severus' presence. It was not as though he was comforting her, near her, or would even be allowed to console her if he was. She had Potter and Black here for that, the two of them disgustingly Muggle-fied in their suits as they flanked her. It was her friend Melody McGonagall who held her as she cried. Severus did not even know if Lily had noticed he was in attendance.

The priest droned on and on in Latin, a language in which Severus could only claim knowledge of selected vocabulary, and for that he was grateful. He was not in a mood for meditations on mortality and eternity.

Lily and Petunia each stepped forward and scooped up a handful of dirt, which they then dropped into the grave. It was simple gesture that evoked a very ugly memory in Severus, a memory of three quarrelling Death Eaters digging a grave in the woods behind McNair's cottage while it rained torrents. A grave for two people who were never supposed to have become corpses in the first place.

If Malfoy had just cast some better binding spells, if the door to McNair's cellar had just been even a little bit sturdier, if Severus had made better split second decisions…. It was everybody's fault, it was nobody's fault—that was the conclusion that had been reached by Malfoy and McNair, but Severus did not share it. It was his fault, his alone—everything else was just set dressing. The spells had come from his wand, he was the one who couldn't sleep.

Gallrick Mountjoy and Wanda Bones were his now, ceaselessly. They would be his burdens and his companions for the rest of his life. It was…a most unwanted kind of intimacy.

He wondered if the driver who had struck them now carried Lily's parents the way that Severus carried Mountjoy and Bones.

"You're the Snape boy, aren't you?"

Severus jumped despite himself. Beside him stood a stooped and dirt-covered old man with a left eye almost white with cataracts. He was struck immediately with a niggling feeling of familiarity. He had to study the man's face a moment before he recognized him as the sexton of the graveyard, a man he had seen often enough in his youth.

"Been a long time since I've seen you here."

_Yes, four years_, Severus thought with a bitter twist of his lips, but he said nothing and looked away from the man and back to the service.

"Awful tragedy, what happened to the Evanses," the old man continued to muse aloud. "Those girls seem to be taking it pretty hard, 'specially that one," he gestured to blonde sister.

Severus still did not speak, but he did concur. Though, historically, Severus could attest that Petunia didn't take much well.

"You're mum still comes by every Sunday evening," the sexton continued. "Says she hasn't seen much of you in the past year."

An entirely deliberate move on Severus' part.

The priest was no longer speaking and it appeared as though the service was concluded. People were hugging and shaking hands, laying handfuls of flowers. Severus' breath hitched when he saw Lily notice him for the first time. He could tell by the surprise on her face that she had not expected him to come, and that hurt a little. Had he not proven his loyalty? He found himself annoyed, and embarrassed. It had been presumptuous to think that Lily would need or want him to be here.

But then she smiled. It was tiny thing, joyless and nearly smothered beneath the tears that streaked her face. But it showed appreciation, and something inside Severus let go a breath it was holding.

"I can clean the dead leaves off the bench by yer daddy if you'd like to visit him. No trouble at all."

Severus turned and saw the sexton's friendly face, expectant. "No," he stated with finality. Then he turned and strode toward the gates, exiting with purpose and never once with the thought of going anywhere near Spinner's End.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Hey, how about that? Less than a month between updates this time. Maybe it's the holiday spirit? Or the fact that I'm now done with finals (woot!).

Anglo-Saxon jewelry is some of the most beautiful ever made. If you don't believe me, just Google it. I thought it would be cool to give Lily a ring from that era, and it seemed plausible considering that James has some very, very old family heirlooms in canon. That said, I am aware that King Wulfhere lived a long-ass time ago. I blame my personal biases for the choice. As to how the ring can still handle day to day wear without falling apart, I'm gonna go with…magic?

Cornelius Fudge by his own words (in PoA) worked at the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes during the first war. I thought it would somewhat poetic to have him be Peter's boss considering he will be one of the first people on the scene when Sirius gets framed for the big murder-explosion. This also fits with the knowledge Fudge seemed to have of Peter during the conversation that Harry overhears in the Three Broomsticks—he talks about him like he knew who he was. Y'all may also recognize Rookwood, Avery, and Jugson as, of course, Death Eaters.

This is a quieter chapter all things considered. Enjoy it while it lasts, because things are about to get crazy—this is the calm before the shit hits the fan, as the saying goes.

If you enjoyed the chapter please review. I love hearing from readers, and if you ask questions I always answer them. Thanks for stopping by to read!


	3. And the Void Went Flash

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

><p><em>"And I rolled in the grass and I spit out the gas<br>__And I lit a match and the void went flash  
><em>_And the sky split and the planets hit,  
><em>_Balls of jade dropped and existence stopped, stopped, stop, stop."  
><em>Patti Smith  
>"Kimberly" (1975)<p>

**Chapter 02: And the Void Went Flash **

Arguing with Lily before being in a committed relationship with her was night and day compared to after. Before there had always been a playfulness to it; after all, it was really just the way they flirted. And if James went too far, said something he regretted or that actually wounded, then oh well. It wasn't as though there was anything at stake. Nothing to lose, and he could start at square one again next week.

That lightness was gone and James found himself taking a beat before speaking, considering his words carefully.

"You're not my mother, Lily, and even if you were, you wouldn't get to tell me what to do." Sometimes he considered more carefully than others. Part of that was the fact that they had been picking at each other for the past few days.

Lily's eyes flashed at him in the mirror as she used a drying charm on her hair. "I'm not telling you what to do. I'm just telling you my opinion on what you plan to do."

"This is a career I've wanted my entire life, it's not a whim I had last week. I'm taking the interview." James was pulling on a pair of formal dressrobes, but buttoning the cuffs was something difficult to do while aggravated.

Lily's eyes narrowed and she slammed her wand down on the wooden shelf near the bathroom sink. She stalked out of sight and into the kitchen wearing only her black bra and knickers set. She reappeared with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in her hands. She ripped it open and turned to page four, refolded it so that the story she wanted to highlight was prominent, and then shoved it at him.

Abandoning his left cuff, he took the paper from her and reluctantly began to read.

_"__Eight Aurors Dead in Six Months, New Sanctions May Help"_

He skimmed the article, but had a pretty good idea why Lily was so upset right at the first glance. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Of course, with her parents…every risk probably seemed unnecessarily large at this point. He took his time as he approached her. She had finished styling her hair and was now performing her makeup spells.

James wrapped his arms around her from behind and hugged her to him. He kissed her scalp as he made eye-contact with her in the mirror. "Lily, I'm not going to pretend that being an Auror isn't dangerous as hell. It is, it's one of the most dangerous things a person in our community could chose to do with their lives, especially right now. But it's…important to me, I need to fight, I need to help fix this."

He watched his girlfriend's expression as he spoke, and by the end she was looking at him quite oddly.

After a moment he finally asked, "What?"

She turned herself around in his arms, leaned her pale face against his chest and sighed. "Oh James, that isn't why I don't approve."

He tried to look at her face, but she nestled in deeper. "I-I mean, obviously, I'm a little fragile on the subject of death right now. The idea of you placing yourself in danger on a daily basis…_of course_ I don't like that." He could hear her tears in her voice now. "I just had to bury my parents, I don't think I could stand to bury you, too." He felt her shifting her arms against his chest so that she could wipe under her eyes. "But that isn't why I don't want you to take the interview."

James was feeling a bit choked up himself from her raw display of emotion, but he did manage to inquire, "Then why?"

After a moment more of clinging to his chest, Lily heaved herself out of his arms and retrieved the newspaper from where he had abandoned it on the bed. He watched from the doorway as she sat on the mattress and looked up at him.

"Did you read it?" she asked.

James almost answered in the affirmative, then found himself shrugging. In his quick once-over he had obviously missed whatever had her so upset.

Lily found the paragraph she wanted, then began to read to him, "_'This is indeed an unprecedented number of casualties for this office,' Head of Magical Law Enforcement Bartemius Crouch admitted. 'But we are not going to take this onslaught lying down. I drafted a motion that has been ratified by Minister for Magic Minchum to temporarily repeal the Prohibitions of Horrick for Aurors.' Crouch went on to explain how he felt these measures would make our Aurors safer in their fight against the insurgent leader styling himself Lord Voldemort and his followers, and by extension, facilitate the protection of wizarding Britain.'_" Lily tossed the copy of the _Prophet_ to the side. "The journalist goes into specifics from there, but it all manages to stay pretty vague. Do you remember the particulars of the Prohibitions of Horrick from Binns' lectures?"

James shook his head.

"I didn't either, so I looked them up. James, Crouch has basically given his Aurors a free pass on dark magic, including the Unforgivable Curses."

James held out his hand, and Lily passed him the newspaper one more time. He really read the article this time. When he finished his face was grim. "This isn't such a bad idea, you know."

Lily was fastening her own dressrobes now. They were professional in cut, double-breasted and navy blue. The look she gave him…James didn't think he had ever shocked her so thoroughly in almost eight years of knowing her.

"I thought you supported anti-Dark Arts legislation."

"I do," he was quick to reassure her. "The Dark Arts are reprehensible, and the laws we have in place are absolutely necessary." He finished buttoning his cuffs because it gave him an excuse not to look at her as he continued. "But Aurors are soldiers fighting on the front lines of a battle. Death Eaters are using these spells, they should be able to use them to fight back."

"That's great," Lily sniped. "Shows real moral fiber. Times are tough, so let's compromise our principles."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," James said after taking a deep breath. Why was it always so hard to hold onto his temper? "Sometimes people who put their lives on the line to fight a war have to make ugly decisions, do ugly things to ensure that what they are protecting stays safe. That's just the grown-up world. We're not kids anymore."

He was fumbling with his tie and Lily jerked the ends from him and began to knot it into a double Windsor herself. He could tell she was grappling with her temper, too.

"I see your point. I disagree with you, but I see your point. My question for you, James Potter, is whether or not you could do those 'ugly things'?"

"What?"

"If you go to that interview and take that job, are you going to be out there casting Cruciatus and Imperius Curses?"

James stumbled over this question more than he thought he would. She had really put him on the spot and her green eyes were so severe, she nearly had him pinned in place with them. "I-I don't know. I guess. I mean, it would depend on the situation."

She straightened his tie and stepped back from him. "Then we have a problem," she said, a calmness in her voice that showed nowhere on her expression.

"What problem? Lily, we're talking about particulars of a job I don't even have yet."

Lily was tossing essentials from one purse to another that matched what she was wearing today. "James, if I could stomach being kissed by someone who tortures, kills, and takes away the free will of others, I'd be dating a Death Eater."

James hissed. Aside from the obvious impugning of his honor, it picked at a sore wound only recently scabbed over. She didn't name a particular Death Eater, but he could fill in the blank.

Thank Merlin that Sirius chose that moment to blunder into their flat uninvited.

"Oy! You lot in the bedroom, stop your shagging. We're going to be late."

Lily snatched up her purse, cloak, and gloves and walked around James' immobile form to get to the door. "We're ready, Padfoot," she said crisply.

"You look nice, Lily." The voice was Peter's and Lily answered him politely while James stood heaving furious breaths in an attempt to calm himself. Another moment revealed Melody to be present as well.

"You all right?" James' eyes snapped to the bedroom doorway where he best mate was leaning in and studying him with an expression of concern. "You two have a fight?" Sirius asked quietly.

James bridled the worst of his fury. It would do no good to shout the things he wanted to shout at Lily in front of their friends. James ripped his cloak from where it hung in the wardrobe. "Everything's fine," he snapped.

* * *

><p><em>My Love,<em>

_I completed the _Manuscrit trouvé à Saragosse_ today. Reading in French is exhausting, but the subject matter was engaging. A gypsy's life seems low and base, of course, but I couldn't help but envy Don Avadoro his moral and temporal freedom. Next on your father's reading list is _The Castle of Otranto_. I am certain it will be a thrilling experience. Who doesn't love a good haunted castle? It's not as though we went to school in one for seven years. _

_The black swan in the pond died this morning. I'm not sure why. I went outside for my walk and it was lying under the big willow tree with its neck at an unnatural angle. I don't mean to be overly dramatic or sentimental, but it cast a pall over my entire day. He was my favorite. _

_The waltz I have composed for you is nearly finished. I will play it for you when you come home for Christmas next week. It's a much better gift than what I wrapped and placed under the tree. _That_ is a horror of bad stich-work that you will have to see to properly believe. As a secret between us, I botched the tapestry so thoroughly that one of your House Elves had to fix it. _

_Lucius, I don't know what I'll do if I don't get to see you for Christmas. Please, whatever you need to do. Please come home to me._

_With Love,_

_Your Devoted Wife _

Lucius had read the letter at least six times, and at no point did the words get easier to take. His wife was unhappy, even miserable, and from where he stood there was nothing he could do to combat that.

"Orders?" came a voice from over his shoulder. He looked up to see Bellatrix Lestrange enter the parlor. It was a room with plenty of shadows in the corners and furniture in spare numbers, though extremely high in quality. The Lestranges had as much money as the Malfoys, ostensibly, but the decor of this manor could only be described as austere. It had shocked Lucius the first time he had seen it. There was not a single item of beauty in this entire building.

"A letter. From your sister." He folded the parchment and placed it in his breast pocket with its many companions. He had not had an opportunity to write her back today as yet. In fact, he probably wouldn't be able to at all.

Bella lowered herself into a high-backed chair by the fire, the only light and heat source in the room just now. She did not seem comfortable or relaxed. She never did. "And how is my dear sister? Still lazing about while the rest of us make ourselves useful."

Lucius did not rise to that bait. In his view, Narcissa was precisely where she ought to be. He didn't want her to be a part of any of this nasty, but necessary, business.

Rodolphus Lestrange joined them, two sets of dark cloaks and two bone-white masks in his arms. He placed one of each in his wife's lap, then hung his own over the back of her chair. "Your useless little friend will not be joining us today."

Lucius bristled. "None of my friends are useless."

"That Snape is," Bella declared. "If he had just completed the mission he was given, we would not be venturing out today, in broad daylight. The Dark Lord is not impressed."

She said it as though she were scolding and her husband nodded in agreement.

"And in what way am I to blame for this?" Lucius adopted his most supercilious manner. It was the only way to deal with these people. He loved his wife, but her sister….

"You vouched for the boy," Lestrange accused. "He's not had a single successful assignment as yet. Hardly an asset to the cause."

Lucius could not argue either of those two points, so he didn't even try. Instead he changed the subject. "Did you receive our list of targets?"

Lestrange answered by way of drawing a roll of parchment from the pocket of his robes. Lucius was annoyed that he showed it to his wife first, but as soon as Bellatrix had memorized the names, Lucius got his turn.

_Horace Slughorn_

_Benjamin Fenwick _

_Irene Abernathy_

_Alfred Fanner_

_Lily Evans _

Lucius recognized most of the names on the list, so remembering it was easy. Internally, he admitted that it was all for the best that Severus was being made to sit this one out. Lucius knew his young friend had an unnatural affection for the Mudblood Evans girl. Merlin only knew what he would do if he found out her name was on this list.

"I am running point on this mission," Lestrange announced. "The Dark Lord honored me with the assignment this morning."

Lucius' congratulations was forced and stiff. If he thought his sister-in-law to be a bit much, it was nothing to the distaste he felt for the woman's husband. War made strange bedfellows, did it not? Lucius had many friends who had joined the cause, for sure, but there were just as many serving the Dark Lord that were people he'd never spend time with socially if he could avoid it.

"Then we have only to wait for deployment," Lucius said.

The three occupants in the room waited almost in silence for more than an hour before their arms began to heat and burn.

Bellatrix caressed her Dark Mark the way one might a lover and relished in the pain. "It's time," she said with a breathless smirk.

* * *

><p>Lily was playing with her father's lighter again, though just with her left hand. Her right was occupied with actually smoking a cigarette. This was something she had taken to doing in recent weeks that drove James barmy. She thought it hypocritical of James to make a fuss, considering that he smoked cigars socially whenever he could.<p>

This was just one more area of conflict that had come to bear in recent weeks with her boyfriend. The sourness had started after a disastrous night out with Petunia and Vernon.

It had been right after the funeral in Cokeworth. Lily and Petunia had chosen a restaurant that they had frequented as a family when they were girls. Lily hadn't known what to say to her sister, and Petunia seemed in a similar place, so the men had filled the silence as best they could, and that turned out to be a disaster. Vernon had bragged about himself for more than an hour, something that James found to be hilarious—openly. He laughed out loud more than once, to Lily's chagrin. This had escalated matters and the next thing she knew, Lily's last remaining family member was stalking out of the restaurant with her ridiculous fiancé, and she was reduced to tears. James had apologized profusely, telling her he'd do whatever he had to repair the damage he had done, but Lily was still sore about the whole thing.

And then there was that mess this morning while they were getting dressed. Lily took a long drag and blinked back tears. She didn't know why she and her boyfriend were on such different wavelengths recently, she just knew that she felt lonely and overwhelmed.

Would he leave her over all of this? Ask her to move out?

Well, he'd come here with her at least.

Currently, they were attending the annual gathering of S.W.A.M.P., the Society for Wizarding Achievements and Mastery in Potioneering, where Lily was to be awarded her Potions Master license. Horace Slughorn, her favorite professor from Hogwarts, had finagled a prime table for Lily and her friends near the podium and he was the one who would be awarding her with the license in an hour. Several leading Potions Masters were presenting their theories and findings from the past year, something she found fascinating, but that James was scarcely able to hide his boredom while watching. The two of them had barely spoken to each other since this morning.

Between speakers, Lily had excused herself and snuck outside for some quiet and a smoke. The concrete steps upon which she sat were cold, and the chill was slowly leaching through her body. The sun was behind some rather malevolent-looking clouds, but as yet there had not been a single snowflake or drop of rain for the day. She was facing an empty alleyway, lined with overflowing rubbish bins and stray cats. She knew that she should go back inside, but she did not move when her cigarette was finished.

She heard the door leading back inside to the assembly open and close. She craned her neck around to see that she was no longer alone.

The woman was in what seemed to be her mid-twenties, and she wore a black Muggle-style cocktail dress instead of traditional robes. Her dark hair was bobbed just past her chin, looking rather windswept. A tiny silver hoop pierced the left side of her nose and her lips were painted red. Lily thought that she would have looked more at home in a London night club than a potions society gathering.

She nodded at Lily in a kind of greeting before opening her handbag and retrieving a cigarette of her own. She seemed to consider lighting it with her wand, but then asked Lily if she could user her lighter instead.

Lily was surprised, but handed over the precious contraption.

The woman did not struggle igniting a flame at all, belying experience with such devices. She took a decent-sized drag, sighing in pleasure, and handed Lily back her lighter.

"Ta," she said. "Sometimes it's nice to do things the old fashioned way."

Lily didn't know quite what the woman meant by that, as wands predated lighters by a considerable number of years, but she did not ask.

"It's a beauty," she indicated the heirloom as she walked forward and sat on the step beside Lily, but not too close.

Lily nodded with a tiny smile. "It was my father's." Then, after a moment she added, "He just passed away."

At this, a peculiar stiff expression passed over the woman's face. "I'm sorry. That's hard."

Lily agreed.

The young woman held out her hand. "I'm Marlene. Marlene McKinnon."

Lily shook it. "Lily Evans."

"You here to present an academic thesis or to receive an award?"

"Award."

"Me as well," Marlene said. "Not really my crowd. I'd much rather be at home, with my family."

Lily noted the wedding ring on her finger. She also saw that there was a slight presence of dirt and grime under her fingernails—an occupational hazard of brewing, Lily knew.

"I've been wanting to attend since I was twelve," Lily confessed. "My best friend and I, we vowed that we would become members of S.W.A.M.P. and now, tonight, it's finally happening."

"You seem thrilled about it, too," Marlene deadpanned.

"He's not here. My friend," Lily clarified. "His project…it didn't go well, and we're not really speaking anyway. It's just weird—it doesn't seem right to be getting this license without him here."

Marlene smiled, and it seemed a kind thing but a pained one as well. "I know a little something about that as well. It's easy to plan on a particular person being there with you, but sometimes that's just not your choice. You earned this, focus on that. Don't worry about him, at least not tonight."

Lily was just experiencing the thought that she quite liked Marlene McKinnon, when the door behind them opened again. This time it was a familiar face.

"Evans, what the bloody hell are you doing freezing your balls off out here? Prongs is worried sick," Sirius was chiding before the door even shut behind him. He caught sight of Marlene. "Well, _hello_."

Lily winced. She rose to her feet, and her smoking companion did as well. With a sigh she said, "I'm heading back."

But Sirius wasn't listening. He was too busy turning on his smarm. "_You_ are far too sexy to be part of this stuffy crowd."

"Thank you," Marlene said, as she flicked away the remains of her cigarette, but she didn't sound as though she meant it at all. In fact, she sounded tired.

"You want to get out of here? Evans won't mind, will you Evans?" He was using his best lopsided grin, but Marlene wasn't even making eye-contact.

Lily cleared her throat to get his attention, then looked pointedly at the woman's ring finger. Sirius followed her gaze and it took him a moment to process what he saw there, but he quickly recovered. Too quickly.

"So your husband's here? That's all right. No one has to know. I saw a broom cupboard just off the atrium."

Lily gasped, fully scandalized, then hit Sirius on the arm with her purse. Hard.

Marlene gave a chuckle, though at Sirius' proposition or Lily's defending of her honor, it was uncertain. "It was nice meeting you, Lily," she said. Then she walked passed Sirius and disappeared through the heavy door.

Sirius rounded on Lily. "What in Merlin's name is wrong with you?"

"Me! That woman was married, Padfoot. Where the hell is your sense of decency?"

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Oh, that? I left that back at Hogwarts about second year. Never was able to find the blasted thing again." He huffed. "Come on, Evans. That was one of the most drop dead fit birds I have ever seen, and you completely piddled all over my party."

"I'm pretty sure you did that yourself," Lily grumbled. "Does the institution of marriage really mean so little to you?"

Sirius smiled rakishly. "Never been one for institutions, love. Just the same, don't get your hopes up."

"I'll try to contain my disappointment. At any rate, James and I aren't married."

"Yet," Sirius said with a shrug. "A technicality. I'm his best mate, so in my mind you two have been married, since, oh, round about third year. You may as well be hippogriff droppings in a bucket mixed with bubotuber pus for how keen I am to put my willy in you."

"Thanks?" Lily managed to say, her brows knit. "Let's just head back. I don't want to miss Benjy Fenwick's presentation on aconite."

* * *

><p>Peter was nervous. He was in a very large room full of important strangers far cleverer than he, and he was talking to a girl, so he was nervous. And when he was nervous, he ate. A lot.<p>

He was standing beside the buffet table, where he had been going back for thirds when he had struck up a conversation with Lily's friend Melody. He had since eaten the shrimp he had placed on his plate, and the last ten or so prawns he had ingested had never known the habitat of porcelain in his hand. They had, in fact, gone directly from the serving platter to his mouth. Peter felt absurd.

It wasn't as though he fancied Melody or anything. And he wasn't flirting with her, even. He was asking for her advice on how to talk to Farrah for pity's sake. But someone should tell his shaking hand that, because it just kept reaching for another shrimp, and then another.

Peter could tell that Melody had noticed, but she was too polite to say anything.

"Honestly, she sounds a little uppish to me, Pete. Dunno if you should really be wasting your time there."

He scrambled to explain. "But she's not! Not really. I think she's just reserved. If I can just get her talking—but I don't know what girls like to talk about."

Melody raised a brow at that. "Hate to break it to you, love, but there isn't any one topic that all girls get chatty over. Do you know something she likes? Personally?"

Peter thought. "She's always reading _Transfiguration Today_ during her shift."

"Well, there you go. Ask her about that."

He paled at the idea. "But I'm rubbish at Transfiguration. What would I even say?"

"Hell if I know," she said with a shrug that made her curls bounce. "Not really my strong suit either."

"Sirius!" Peter called to his friend who had just reentered the hall after fetching Lily. Sirius would know what to do; Padfoot had helped Peter obtain the two casual girlfriends he'd had at Hogwarts, after all. He waved him over frantically, and then almost regretted it because it was immediately clear that Padfoot was in a lousy mood. Still, it seemed too late to wave him off, so Peter briefly explained his predicament and then asked for advice.

Padfoot glowered in Lily's direction as he spoke. "Well, Wormy, don't think I'm the best person to ask. I have just been informed that I don't know much on this subject either. Looks like it's a lost cause, mate."

But Peter didn't want it to be a lost cause. Before he could say so, Melody asked Sirius, "Is Lily all right?"

"Nothing worse than what she has been for the past month. Still smoking and moping."

Melody shook her head in sympathy. "Well, at least she has James."

And just like that, Peter watched helplessly while the subject of the conversation changed, and there was nothing he could do to bring it back.

"Won't even have that if she doesn't get a handle on her little temper," Sirius grumbled. "She and Prongs were fighting again when we turned up today."

Melody gave him a severe look. "Lay off her, Black. Her parents just died."

"Oh, I'm all kinds of aware of that," Sirius spread his palms. "And when your parents are human beings that love you rather than the Dementors in disguise that I got saddled with, I'm sure that's a very traumatic experience."

"You don't actually think that Prongs would chuck her again, do you?" Peter was concerned. He had told James, back at Hogwarts last year, not to end his relationship with Lily, that he would regret it. James hadn't heeded his counsel, and Peter and Remus had been treated to a month and a half of Pissy-Prongs-Who-Hates-Everything before the two of them had reconciled. Peter wasn't looking forward to going through that again.

"No," Sirius admitted. "Prongs is in this for the long haul. He learned his lesson. I just wish that she would go easier on him."

Melody snorted. "You're not biased at all."

"What's up your arse, McGonagall?" Sirius snapped.

"I just think that maybe you have a warped perspective, on account of your unrequited love for James. I happen to think he should be going easier on her."

"Wow, it looks like hypocrisy and vaginas may go hand in hand."

Peter actually stepped back because for a moment he was sure that Sirius was going to get slapped and he wanted to get out of the crossfire.

"Well Black, I think we have definitively proven that Lily was right: you are fucking pants at talking to women!"

He could leave. If he just backed away slowly and didn't make eye contact, Peter didn't think anyone would notice his absence.

He was saved from needing to employ his mediocre skills in stealth by an announcement made through the hall.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you will take your seats, we shall commence with our final task this afternoon: presentation of awards honoring this year's achievements in our field." The voice came from a tiny, wheezy man at the podium. He was easily one of the oldest wizards Peter had ever seen, and he had introduced himself at the start of the assembly as Alfred Fanner, Chairman of S.W.A.M.P.

Peter made his way back to the table assigned to his party, all the way avoiding walking between Sirius and Melody. Already seated at the table were James and Lily; the two of them were not actively speaking or touching, but they were together. Melody took the available seat beside Lily and Sirius took the one next to James, swapping their places from where they had sat earlier in the evening. Lily and James took notice of this, but did not say anything about it. Peter sheepishly took the last remaining seat at the table.

Alfred Fanner called Horace Slughorn to the podium. Slughorn gave a speech on the nature and importance of youth earning their Potions Master license and thus entering into their Society, before calling Lily to the stage. He placed the medal around her neck and gave her an official framed certificate. She thanked the Society and those who had supported her, before retaking her seat. She smiled when she was at the podium, and it was the first time Peter had seen her smile all day. He wondered fleetingly if the smile was real, and found he could not tell. He hoped it was.

A Potions Master license at eighteen was quite the achievement; most people attempted more than once before earning theirs, and Lily was the only one being so elevated tonight. The other three students of their year that had petitioned had been denied. Though from the talk amongst the old brewers tonight, Peter had surmised that if Snape's project hadn't gone so wonky, he would have been honored as well.

Fanner took to the podium again as the applause died down. "We have one other award to present tonight. A bittersweet duty it is, to be sure." The little man drew up to his full height. "Tonight we honor the work of Finlay McKinnon, a man who trained as a Healer, but chose to dedicate his life to developing medicinal potions. His body of work and two published books on the subject speak for themselves, of course, but just this past year he had not one, but two breakthroughs in potioneering that will impact countless lives. He completed work on his Fertilius Philter, which repairs damage to the female reproductive system, allowing the previously infertile to conceive healthy children with minimal risk. He also perfected a technique that has long eluded many of our best minds to make household potions that may be dangerous or poisonous to ingest undrinkable. Parents all over the wizarding community can breathe easier knowing that their children are safe from common cleaners."

Here Fanner paused. The room was the quietest it had been all night.

"It is a great tragedy of our time that Finlay McKinnon cannot be here with us tonight, as he died suddenly and violently only two months ago. He leaves behind his wife and his small son, and is also survived by his parents, who declined an invitation here tonight. His widow, however, has graciously joined us today to accept the award on his behalf. May I present, Mrs. Marlene McKinnon."

Somber applause pattered through the room as a woman stepped forward and climbed the stairs to the stage. She was quite something to look at, Peter noted, and then felt guilty for thinking it. She was a _widow_, for Merlin's sake.

To his left Sirius made the strangest noise Peter had ever heard him make, and Peter took his gaze off the podium in concern. Sirius…was—was he actually trying to hide his face?

Peter leaned toward him as the woman began to speak. "What is it?" he whispered.

"The girls were right. Lily and Mel were right. God Wormy, I'm such a bastard."

"What are you on about?" Peter hissed.

"Shh! Don't talk to me, Wormtail. I don't want her looking over here."

Peter struggled to bite his tongue, but managed it for now. He knew he would be pestering Sirius for details later.

That was the last thought Peter had before everything went to hell.

It started near the back of the hall, a rumble like thunder, then the sound of doors slamming shut. The lights went out and they were doused in darkness. Then the screaming started.

Peter froze, unable to feel or move his limbs, his mind utterly blank. When an elbow collided with his chest (likely belonging to Sirius), it jolted Peter into action. The action he took was sliding to the floor and crawling under the table.

Little blinkers of light started to fire off; some were using their wands as torches to light the blackness. Others fired spells that zipped by in reds, blues, and golds, illuminating what they passed and then immediately abandoning them to the darkness once more. The screams were getting louder and more numerous, and Peter hugged the table leg.

He did not know if a minute passed or twenty, but suddenly there was a jerking on his right arm. Peter bellowed in alarm, only to be shushed. A wand tip flashed with light long enough to eliminate the face of Melody McGonagall.

"Quietly," she breathed in his ear, then she dragged him out from under the cover of the table. She led him by the hand and eventually he deduced that they were headed behind the stage. Once at their destination, Peter heard the wheezy voice of Alfred Fanner do a kind of role call.

"Horace?" And Peter heard the Potions Professor answer.

"Benjamin?" Another voice.

"Mrs. McKinnon?" Affirmative.

Sirius, Melody, and Peter also confirmed their presence. But that was the end of the list.

Peter felt in the dark for his fellow Marauder. "Padfoot," he whispered. "Where are Lily and James?"

* * *

><p>Lily did not come to consciousness gradually. Rather, it was like being awoken with a splash of water to the face. Her body jerked, and in that process she became aware of rock-stiff arms encircling her. She wriggled in full panic to free herself, and only afterward did she realize the arms belonged to James.<p>

He was petrified, literally, and staring at her with eyes that were screaming even though his mouth was incapable of moving.

Lily had only just registered this sight when she was wrenched to her feet by her hair and then dragged several yards. She struggled against the person that was pulling her, but she was too disoriented to make a good showing for herself, and then the fight was shocked out of her when she stumbled over the body of a woman, prone on the red carpet beneath her feet. It only took a glance to be certain that this woman was dead.

"Seat her at the table," came a cold, high voice.

Lily half shambled into the chair, and half was dumped there by her captor. She found herself juddering and taking into account a table covered in books and parchment.

A man stood across from her, but he was like no man she had ever seen. His skin was white—an unnatural white, paler even than the flesh of a corpse. The hair on his head was almost gone, but it looked like it was falling out in clumps and patches rather than thinning naturally. His face had a waxy, artificial look to it, as though he'd had too much plastic surgery and there was a suggestion of something vaguely reptilian in his features. His eyes were red.

"Miss Evans, we've not met. I am Lord Voldemort."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Here we go! I told you guys the action would pick up this chapter.

Poor Narcissa, forced to read 18th century Gothic literature. No, wait. That sounds awesome—I don't know what she's whining about. But for real guys, don't count her out. I have big plans for that girl and she's not going to be sidelined much longer.

I owe the Pottermore website and the Harry Potter Lexicon a lot for this chapter; it required a lot of research. The stuff with Barty Crouch Sr. and Minister Harold Minchum allowing Aurors to use Unforgivables during the First War is totally true (though I made up the name of the law being repealed, because, strangely, one wasn't given). Furthermore, Rowling has now stated officially that the fictional town of Cokeworth is where Lily, Petunia, and Snape grew up. The awful Dursleys/Potters double date is also a thing that Rowling wrote about on her website. I just described it in its barest details here and added the bit of it taking place right after a funeral (as if the occasion needed anything else to make it more uncomfortable). You can read the full account if you haven't already on Pottermore.

Much love and thanks to my friend Emily for coming up with the acronym and its meaning for the potions convention. *air hugs!* Seriously, she rocks.

And yay for Order members, finally showing their awesome faces!

This story hasn't gotten much in the way of traffic or reviews—at least, not compared to the number or people who told me they wanted a sequel. I'll not deny that has been a serious bummer, but I want to reassure you guys who _are_ reading, that I am not discouraged (much). I am having a lot of fun writing this and I have no intention of stopping.


	4. The Buildings Start to Fall

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

><p><em>"They can't be stopped at all. The buildings start to fall.<br>__Soldiers shoot all day and then they run away.  
><em>_La la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la._

_The world is holocaust. Everything is lost.  
><em>_Mankind is destroyed, sprinkled in the void.  
><em>_La la la la la, la la la la la, la la la la la."  
><em>Blondie  
>"The Attack of the Giant Ants" (1976)<p>

**Chapter 03: The Buildings Start to Fall **

"I need a potion."

Lily didn't know if it was her recent jolting into consciousness or her heightened terror at the situation, but it took a moment to register Voldemort's unexpected purpose, and even then, she did not immediately comprehend it.

"I-I'm sorry?"

The skin around his mouth tightened, and Lily swallowed in fear. This was not a man who had to repeat himself often.

"I require a potion," he said again. "My sources have led me to believe that you may be capable of brewing it." Voldemort indicated the heaps of parchment between them. "This particular concoction is…delicate. My own potions experts have been unsuccessful thus far."

Lily gaped. Voldemort wanted her to do a job for him?

The silence, Lily's lack or response, seemed to goad the Death Eater in the room with them.

"See! She's useless, my Lord. Her dull Mudblood brain is unequal to the task. We should just kill her and move to the next." The voice was feminine and familiar, but not overly so—a voice she had heard before, but not anytime recently. In Lily's current state she doubted that she would be able to place it, and she didn't even try.

Voldemort, for his part, did not take his predator's eyes off of Lily, even as he spoke to his servant. "There _is_ no other, not as yet. Your husband has brought me only two of my requested five, and Mrs. Abernathy proved less than helpful."

_Oh God_, Lily realized after a moment of horror. _He means the dead woman on the floor_.

She took deep breaths and strove to ground herself. The room was lit only by the fire in the hearth and a chandelier that hung low over the hardwood table where she sat. The walls were covered by fine oil canvases of garden scenes, pretty flowers swaying in their own little world of sunshine and gentle breezes, bees flitting from painting to painting. The furniture in the sitting room was fine and ornate with doilies on every surface. The room strongly evoked the image of a reclusive old lady, and Lily had the distinct impression that this was a space borrowed by her captors, not owned.

"You are trying my patience, Miss Evans."

Whether or not she _could_ brew the potion was immaterial, because no matter what she would refuse. But now was not the time for that. She needed to assess her situation. Where were they? Where was her wand? If she were to try to escape with James, would she face Voldemort and one Death Eater, or was there and army waiting outside this room? Lily needed to stall.

"Which of these is the recipe?" she asked, forcing herself to look this self-styled Dark Lord in the eye.

His smile was more terrifying than his sneer. "They are all the recipe."

Lily blinked down at the pile. Surely, he couldn't be serious.

"What I seek is known as the Emerald Potion."

Lily's eyes widened. If he was referring to the potion from legend…he was crazy. Even the books housed in the Restricted Section at Hogwarts whispered of that potion as though it were a blaspheme.

"The only known copies were destroyed when the Ministry was in formation, during the early eighteenth century. All that survives is a description of its appearance and effects. A few have tried to recreate it through the years, but as yet all attempts have resulted in failure. What sits before you is the documentation of their cumulative efforts." He placed a black, leather-bound journal in front of her. "These are the notes of the most recent and successful attempt." His high voice was full of contempt. "Not successful enough, I'm afraid."

With trembling hands, Lily opened the journal. What she saw there made her inhale sharply and a lump rose in her throat. She would recognize this handwriting anywhere.

"What is it?" Voldemort demanded.

Lily groped for an appropriate lie. "I-It's just a lot to take in, to sort through, you know. And the handwriting is a sloppy mess, I'm not sure if I can read it."

Voldemort raised a bald brow. "Then you are of no use to me, girl."

"Let's not be hasty," she shrilled, doing her best not to acknowledge the masked Death Eater to the left, whose wand was leveled at her. "Let's have a look first."

And then Lily buried her nose in the book, willing that the dark wizard delay his order to kill her.

She scanned the pages of the journal without really taking in much of the information. It had been a careless lie to say that she couldn't read Severus' handwriting—and an unnecessary one at that. For all she knew, Voldemort was aware that the two of them had grown up together. For another thing, Severus' handwriting really wasn't that difficult to read even to a stranger, all things considered. She was panicking, making bad decisions. If she didn't take a few breaths and calm down, she was going to get herself killed, along with James.

_James._ Lily thought his name to herself again, and again. It was a calming chant, a chant of power. She had to be strong, she had to keep her wits about her, because if she did not play this right, James would die along with her. He may be petrified on the floor, out of her sight, but he was here. And that meant that she was not alone. She had his love, his trust, his faith, right here in this room with her. Together they were stronger than the will of this evil man, and tonight, she was going to prove it.

* * *

><p>"This is getting ridiculous," Hornby Travers was growling to Lucius' left. "They're gone. They Apparated out of here because we didn't have ourselves in position quickly enough, and they're gone."<p>

Rabastan Lestrange, a hulking mass behind the two of them, made a threatening noise behind his mask. Lucius chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw the light of his wand reflected in the polished white surface covering the giant's face.

His elder, but smaller brother, Rodolphus was likewise not pleased with the dissention. "There are still three that we need, and at least one of them is here. Many left, yes, but a handful stayed to fight us as well. Fenwick at least—he must be here. He has ample motive, and well, you know Gryffindors," he sneered. "We're not leaving until the Aurors come, and Rookwood says our timetable on that is still another ten minutes."

Privately, Lucius agreed with Travers, but he was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. And thus he and two others were deployed to make their way around the buffet table and to the stage. He went without voicing complaint, though many ran through his brain.

He took care to step on the body of Dominic Yaxley as he crept back toward the ballroom. Yaxley was unconscious, not dead, and he had been cursed repeatedly for beginning the attack before word was given. The motionless body was covered in boils, had his bottom lip stretched up over his head, and his legs transfigured into those of a chicken.

Lucius extinguished the light on the tip of his wand. He would not make himself so obvious a target.

He motioned for Evan Rosier and Travers to slip out into the ballroom behind him. It was dark and still. The room was large and now largely empty, so everything echoed, as if they were in a gigantic cave. There were people in here, creeping and hiding, silently and invisibly. Lucius knew that he and his brothers were the ones with the masks, the aggressors, but it was beginning to feel as though they were actually the hunted.

After the initial confusion, the vast majority of witches and wizards in attendance had Disapparated. Only a few had elected to stay and fight the Death Eaters. They could have escaped by now, but they voluntarily remained. These people were, to speak frankly, off their damn nut, and Lucius would be lying if he did not admit feeling nervous about searching the vast ballroom. He and his allies may outnumber these upstarts, but the pitch-black of the surroundings was a great equalizer.

The trouble with this setup was that there was no truly adequate cover. Tables had been turned over if you could feel your way to them, sure, but that was nothing a good Reductor Curse couldn't handle.

_Only a few more minutes_, Lucius told himself. He and his companions need only search the darkness for a few more minutes. Once the Aurors arrived, he would be the first to Disapparate. _Just a few more minutes_.

* * *

><p>"I don't know about this, Padfoot." Peter whispered so low, he was almost breathing the words rather than speaking them.<p>

"I agree." Marlene McKinnon was sane at least. Peter appreciated that.

"Nonsense, Wormy," Sirius' voice was encouraging, but stern. They couldn't see each other, but Peter knew: he wasn't asking, he was telling. "I have absolute faith in you."

Peter exhaled a trembling breath. He knew what was being asked of him, even if Padfoot hadn't said the words. He couldn't say them, really. Their Animagus abilities were a secret—an illegal secret.

"We should just wait for help," Marlene argued. "Slughorn said he'd be back with help and we should just wait for that."

"Absolutely not," Sirius bit out. "I'm not going to hide from these scum fuckers."

"I thought you wanted to show me the broom cupboard."

"Really? You're going to throw that in my face _now_?"

"I agree with him, Mar," came the voice of Benjy Fenwick. "Besides, we have an injured man in our party. We can't risk being found. We need to move."

"Sense, finally!" Sirius growled.

"But perhaps I should be the one to go," Benjy said. "I know this building quite well."

"No," Padfoot was adamant. "Peter is the best man for the job, aren't you Pete?"

Peter closed his eyes and swallowed. "Yes," he squeaked. "I'll do it."

He gently, carefully made his way out from behind the curtain they had been using as cover, and to muffle their conversation. He took several deep breaths as he bent to place his wand on the carpet. He concentrated, let the world fall away, and then come back as a larger version of itself. Peter saw no difference, of course, he was as blind as a rat as he was as a human in these conditions. Nevertheless, he could _feel_ that everything was larger.

The flood of animal instincts was familiar and expected. Peter had been scared before the transformation; the rat was more scared still. Rodents were nervous and excitable creatures. It didn't take much to frighten them, and Peter could feel his tiny heart pounding at a rate that would kill a human being. His little muscles were tense and prepared for flight. Ironically, Peter found himself comforted. The rat may feel more helpless than a human, but it also had more information about its surroundings. The scents, the vibrations in the floor—Merlin, how Peter loved his whiskers.

He scampered forward, finding his wand. Then he clamped his jaws around a portion of the handle and began to drag it with him.

Peter's mission was relatively simple. He was a distraction. He needed sneak past the Death Eaters that were guarding the hall leading to the atrium, make a ruckus in the tea room in an attempt to draw them out, turn back into a rat, and hope that it gave Marlene and Benjy enough time to get Alfred Fanner out one of the side exits. The old man, as it turned out, had never gotten his Apparation license. Fanner was also in a bad way from a melee that had separated them from Melody and would likely not survive the compression of side-along Apparition.

And then there was Sirius and Peter's next course of action. Once Benjy and Marlene got Fanner out of here, Padfoot and Wormtail were going to find their friends: James, Lily, and Melody. They were not leaving without them.

Peter skittered his way across the ballroom toward the atrium in an almost direct line. He had much less to fear as a rat; it was highly unlikely that he would be seen, and even if he was, he probably wouldn't be attacked. Unless, of course, they saw the wand.

* * *

><p>"This potion, is it within your abilities or not?" Voldemort demanded. He was now seated across from her at the table, studying her as she studied the notes.<p>

Honestly, Lily hadn't thought so. Sorting through all of these records, all of these parchment pages, there was nothing here solid enough to begin brewing. But then she had unfurled a scroll covered in Severus' compact scrawl. At first it looked like calculations that had led to yet another dead end, but then Lily studied it more carefully. If she hadn't been familiar with Severus' particular brand of short hand, she might have missed it, but it was all there. This page had all of the necessary ingredients, proportions, and procedures to brew at least a primitive version of the potion.

Severus had cracked it, then tried to make it seem as though he hadn't. That begged the question: why?

"I would need to start from scratch," she bluffed. "It would take weeks, maybe a month before I would be ready to begin brewing. And even then, it may take a few test runs to fine-tune the recipe." Her current objective was to keep herself and James alive as long as possible. The longer they were alive, the more time they would have to escape.

There was blatant scoffing behind the white mask beside her. "I don't trust her, my Lord," said the Death Eater.

Voldemort studied Lily for a sharply felt minute, during which she did her utmost not the show her fear or her uncertainty.

Finally, he reached an assessment. "Nor do I." He shifted his red gaze to his crony. "Bring the spare."

The Death Eater practically squealed with delight as she retrieved James from where he had been deposited. Lily nearly swallowed her tongue in horror, flinching as she heard James wheeze from being reanimated.

"It's curious that we ended up with this one," Voldemort was telling her in a voice that made plain his sadistic enjoyment at watching her squirm. "How did that happen?" he addressed the madwoman.

"Threw himself in front of you," she said, cackling. "Shielded your body with his. Very romantic."

The reciting of this story was all for Lily's benefit, that was obvious.

"Lily. L-Lily," James was winded as he was thrown to the ground now in her line of sight. His dressrobes were crumpled and ripped, his glasses askew. Her heart ached seeing him this way. "Don't do it. No matter what they do to me, don't do anything for them."

As directly as she could manage, Lily told Voldemort, "If you kill him, I will never make your potion."

The man had such a creepy laugh. "No one's killing anyone, you stupid girl. Not yet." He rose to his feet. "I just need some assurance that there are no lies in this room." He nodded to the Death Eater.

"_Crucio!_" The woman said it with an affection and excitement that was unnatural.

And then Lily huffed in terror as she saw James' body jump and jerk under the force of the curse, as though he were being continually stuck by lightning. The room was filled with his screams. It was a sound she had been unaware James was even capable of making, a sound that would haunt her in nightmares until the day she died.

She tried to rush to him, but one flick of Voldemort's wand and she was pinned to her chair.

It might have gone on for seconds or minutes, but either way it was an eternity before Voldemort motioned for his servant to cease.

Lily strained to stand again, but she was still unable. "Let me go to him." She had meant for it to be a command, but it sounded more like begging.

"Are you capable of brewing the potion?"

"Fuck you!" she flared. "Let me go to him."

Voldemort gave her that awful smile again, and the bottom dropped out of Lily's stomach. She knew what he was going to do before he did it.

Lily screamed with James this time, in agony, in rage. Her hands covered her ears, and, furious at her impotence, she kicked over the hardwood table with one flailing foot, dumping the potions notes to the ground. She had hoped that would give the odious man pause, distract her captors from their torture for even one moment. But it did not.

At some point, her voice deserted her, but James' cries went on and on. There was nothing she could do but watch and listen. Her face and her hands were soaked with her tears, but she was no longer looking at James. She couldn't.

When at last it ended, Lily was glaring at Voldemort with hatred she had not known she was capable of. "I am going to kill you," she said, her voice eerily steady. "I am going to rip your sodding head off with my bear hands."

He appeared thoroughly unruffled. "But will you make my potion, Mudblood?"

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Yes," she snarled. "Now bring me a damn cauldron."

* * *

><p>There was movement behind the curtain to the left side of the stage, Lucius was sure of it. He could hear it. He nudged Rosier, who nudged Travers, and the three of them made their way in that direction.<p>

When he was close enough, Lucius flicked his wand and silently cast _Stupefy_! A stream of blue light shot from the tip of his wand and hit the curtain.

There was a bellow, scrambling and fumbling, as Lucius' companions cast spells as well. Feeling confident that they had, in fact, caught their prey unaware, he step forward—only to be tackled, knocked onto his back by a large body covered in fur.

Lucius cried out in surprise. Red light flashed from the end of Rosier's wand, illuminating narrowed yellow eyes and a muzzle baring all of its sharp teeth. He raised his arm just in time to stop the enormous dog from going for his throat. Instead, its jaws sank into Lucius' arm. He yelled out and began bashing the dog's head with his fist frantically, absolute terror gripping him. This animal had his wand arm, and he could feel the blood gushing from the wound.

Colored steaks of light strobed and flickered through the scene. A woman in a black dress with dark hair hit Travers across the face with a Slicing Jinx, and a man with blond goatee and mustache was dueling Rosier.

"You bitch!"

"You're going to have to do better than that, Benjamin!"

"Just warming up, Evan."

"Damn it, Black! Where the hell are you?"

Lucius flailed in an attempt to gain the attention of one of his companions. "Get this mutt off of me!"

A boot, owner unknown, kicked Lucius in the hip; the dog growled, tightening its grip; then a stray Stunning Spell hit him, and Lucius knew no more.

* * *

><p>This was the tea room, Peter was almost sure of it. It was the kind of thing that was difficult to know for certain at his size, but he was pretty confident that he had not gotten himself turned around. In a way, he almost hoped that he had, because Peter did not like this room.<p>

His helpful little whiskers and twitching nose were telling him that there were dead bodies in this room. Freshly dead, but still dead.

Merlin, he hoped that his friends were not in here.

There were also voices, booming voices that made Peter's little ears tremble. He had to concentrate to understand what they were saying; the range of sound that his ears processed always made understanding human words difficult.

"…not what we're here for."

"Keep your voice down."

"If the Dark Lord discovers what we—"

"He won't. He's too focused on this potion."

"He'll notice that you killed five people. What if he starts asking why?"

"I doubt that—he won't think anything of it. It was a battle, Jugson. These things happen."

A pause.

"Shame about that last one. She was a nice piece."

"That's disgusting."

"What?" Then the same voice continued. "Right, of course. You _killed_ her, but I'm the filthy one for thinking there might have been a better use for that body of hers."

"Shut it, Jugson. You're a pervert and everyone knows it. Wait…did you hear that?"

"Someone's coming."

"Lestrange?"

A shout of alarm. "Bloody hell, it's the Aurors! They're early. Send the signal for retreat!"

The air rent with the sound of dozens of people Disapparating. Pain in Peter's ears spiked at each one, and he could hear the retreating Death Eaters as far away as the furthest reaches of the ballroom.

He was trembling with what he had overheard, both he and the rat were jumpy now. Peter scurried under the overhang of a nearby wooden cabinet when he felt approaching footsteps. He curled into himself, making his body as small and invisible as possible.

Shouting, there was so much shouting.

And then the lights came back on.

Peter closed his eyes against the sudden brightness. That didn't stop him from hearing the chaos and alarm spike within the room.

"Oh Merlin…. Moody, over here."

"Fucking hell! Those monsters! No, Alice, don't come in. You either, Frank. No one needs to see this."

At that, Peter's curiosity got the better of him and he cracked his eyes open.

He had smelled blood, so he had been expecting that. What he hadn't expected was that it would be dripping from the walls. Five bodies lay mutilated almost beyond recognition, heaped in a pile. Their body parts detached, mixed and mingling. A severed head was oriented toward Peter, its eyes open, its bouncy curls matted with blood. Melody.

* * *

><p>The fear was gone. Lily felt only rage.<p>

James wasn't moving. His eyes were closed and he hadn't stirred since the torture by Cruciatus Curse had ended. Lily had still not been allowed to go near him and the only comfort that she had was that she could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed. If he didn't get to St. Mungo's soon…well, Lily remembered what her Defense Against the Dark Arts text had said on the subject.

Voldemort watched her chopping the Nichtmeer Grass while wearing dragonhide gloves that were too large for her hands, and Lily's tongue was bleeding because she was biting it so hard. It was physically painful to be doing what this monster wanted her to do, and she couldn't even trust herself to make eye-contact.

"I'm going to need the Fanged-Cherub Root for the next step," she said flatly as she consulted Severus' notes.

"It's on its way," that cold voice reassured.

Without warning, there was an explosion of cracking outside the room where she was located, like a finale of a fireworks display, or a hail of gunfire. An army had Apparated onto the premises, and one even popped into existence in their room, right beside Lily.

He was a well-groomed man with black hair, and he hadn't expected her to be there. His eyes widened and then he had hastily reaffixed his mask to cover his face. He took stock of the room, and then saw his Lord beckoning.

Hastily moving forward, he bowed before Voldemort then stood. He leaned toward his master and spoke in a low voice that Lily could not discern. She found herself absolutely uninterested in whatever he was reporting.

It seemed that the house was now crawling with Death Eaters, but Lily felt only elation. Apparition was a two-way street: if people could Apparate in, they could Disapparate out. One only needed a wand to accomplish that. Lily had none, but a plan had begun to formulate in her head.

She added the Nichtmeer Grass to the potion and began stirring counter clockwise. The ingredients currently simmering together over the fireplace were not particularly interesting in their chemical reactions with one another, at least not yet. But Fanged Cherub Root? That item was notoriously volatile. All it took for it to react in an undesired way was a little push.

While she waited for the root to be delivered, she surveyed the room once more, furtively. Voldemort and his servants were preoccupied and the foolishly believed her cowed. No one was watching James at all.

All she needed was a wand. There were now three in the room that she knew of: Voldemort's, one belonging to the masked female Death Eater, and one in the right hand of the black-bearded newcomer.

Lily stirred and schemed as the minutes wore on, drawing as little attention to herself as possible. She wanted these awful people to all but forget she was there.

When a House Elf arrived with the Fanged Cherub Root, her heart began to pound frenetically. She chopped it with care, keeping her fingers well clear of its teeth and consciously steadying her trembling hands. Lily extracted the explosive teeth with her paring knife and casually added them to the pile that she would eventually drop into the potion.

Voldemort called the female Death Eater to him, and she leaned close to him. Her robes swayed with the movement, and a pocket on her left hip gaped. Lily's heart leapt. Three wands were stashed there, two of them well known to her. The third must have belonged to Mrs. Abernathy.

The door to the room burst open and second masked man strode in, this one enormous. He spoke to Voldemort in hushed tones. Whatever news he was delivering, his master did not like it. Voldemort cuffed the man across the head with his arm.

"Is this what I am to expect? Failure?" He rose to his feet, his followers cowering. "You are all worthless!"

"M-My Lord," the big man stammered. "What would you have us do?"

"Bring him to me, so that I may kill him."

Silence as the three masked servants stared.

"Immediately!"

"Of-of course, master," the big man said as he rose.

Lily was not a thought in anyone's head at that moment and she took her chance. The Fanged Cherub Root, teeth and all were dropped into the potion. In the same motion, she threw Severus' completed recipe into the fire to burn, then she took cover.

The explosion hit before giant man had even made it to the door. Green acid sprayed everywhere, including Lily's captors. Nichtmeer Grass was a nasty piece of work and human skin did not react well to it, even through layers of clothing; with the addition of the root, the mixture would positively burn, maybe even scar because the Moonpond Weed had yet to be added to make the liquid mellow enough to drink.

Voldemort and his followers cried out in pain and confusion. Lily had only the smallest window of opportunity before the door broke down and the room was flooded with Death Eaters. She dove for the disgusting woman who had tortured James, pushed her to the ground from behind. She grabbed the woman by her dark hair and bashed her masked face into the ground once to further incapacitate her, then dug the three wands from the pocket in the her robes.

"What is she doing? Get her! Get her!"

Lily vaulted her body over James', gripped him tightly, and thought of home. A loud crack, and she and James were free.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> And so…Lily and James have defied Voldemort for the first time. James was referred to as the "spare" by Voldemort upon the insistence of my friend Logan. Besides, I just re-watched _A Very Potter Musical_, and who could resist? "Cedric, you are so annoying! Okay? You're like this guy that's just around all the time when I don't need a guy around. You're this spare guy all the time. This spare dude. You are such a spare!"

The Pottermore website gives the date of the founding of Ministry of Magic as 1707, so I kept with that. "Emerald Potion" is the term that Rowling uses to refer to the potion Dumbledore had to drink in the cave with Harry in HBP—you know the one that the locket was submerged in that gave him nightmares. So, yeah, _that_ potion.

The decision to kill Melody here is a long-standing one that goes back to the early days of _Buried Treasure and Transmogrify_. I feel sort of bad about it, but it's really just one of many. This fic is going to be lousy with death. She died with narrative purpose, at least, and that's not nothing. : )

Thank you for reading. Please review!


	5. The World and Humans, Too

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

* * *

><p>"<em>I wanted flesh and blood, skin and bones<br>__Multidimensional, universal home  
><em>_I was space and time up and down  
><em>_Live and dead, blood all around  
><em>_I knew there'd be trouble, but I could pull through  
><em>_So I thought of the world and humans, too."  
><em>The Doors  
>"In the Eye of the Sun" (1971)<p>

**Chapter 04: The World and Humans, Too**

"Wait, slow down. What?"

"Yaxley's dead." Lucius repeated. "_Dominic_ Yaxley is dead. Heath Yaxley is still around someplace. Not pleased about his brother, but what can he say, really? Lestrange blamed the entirety of the failed mission on him, and the Dark Lord believed it."

Severus watched as Lucius lowered himself gingerly into a chair by the fire, then groaned in pain and closed his eyes. They were in Severus' brewing cellar, in the basement of McNair's cottage. The room was dank, with no natural light and smelled of rotting ingredients, but Severus was used to it now and found it rather comfortable.

He set aside the boomslang skin he had been preparing and gave his full attention to his visitor. He was trying to map out a way to the information he wanted. So, his brotherhood had decided to hit the annual S.W.A.M.P. gathering without as much as a word to him. There were so many questions he had: Why had he been excluded? What were they after? Why did the mission fail? What the hell had happened to Lucius' arm?

Though those items were all of interest to Severus today, none of them quite burned in his throat the way an inquiry after Lily did. But he couldn't just ask that directly, not even with Lucius. So he picked another bearing instead, with an intent to nudge the conversation where he wanted it to go gradually.

"What happened to your arm?"

Lucius' eyes cracked open and his expression darkened. "A dog bit me."

"A _dog_?"

"A dog the size of a damned bear, in the Society ballroom."

Severus absorbed that for a moment, but still was not able to reconcile the image. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I'm aware," Lucius sneered. "But sense doesn't seem to have much to do with it." He caressed his bandaged arm carefully. "I can only pray that the mutt was not rabid. Travers did what he could but I should probably see our Healer. He won't be available until tomorrow, though. He's treating the Dark Lord and the Lestranges right now."

"The _Dark Lord_ was injured?" Just how bad had things got?

Lucius rubbed his eyes wearily. "Yes, your little Mudblood friend did a number on him."

It seemed that conversational nudging was unnecessary._ Lily?_ _Oh, dear god, what had happened tonight?_

Luckily, Lucius seemed to have accurately read his face and Severus didn't even need to speak. "Remember that little potion you were supposed to be brewing last year? The one you said was impossible? Well, the Dark Lord didn't take impossible for an answer. He became convinced that surely _someone_ within S.W.A.M.P. would have the aptitude to figure it out." He yawned. "First he tried just outright kidnapping the most likely candidate—that, uh, Finlay McKinnon I think was his name. At any rate, it didn't work out and McKinnon was eliminated. Travers said he was a cheeky bastard anyway." A shrug. "Good riddance, I suppose, but the Dark Lord was undeterred. So he sent us to the Society meeting with a list, people he thought might be able to accomplish the brew. Five of them, really. Your Mudblood was on it."

Severus swallowed. His fingers were clutching the edge of the worktable, but he could not feel them.

"Yaxley gave the word to start the attack early. We weren't in place, and then everything went to hell in a coin purse. We apprehended Irene Abernathy and Lily Evans, but Slughorn Disapparated. Alfred Fanner was injured, and then Travers accidentally finished the job when we went to detain him. He's dead. Rosier dueled with Fenwick and won, but we weren't able to take him back to the Dark Lord because the Aurors turned up ahead of schedule. Bloody unreliable, that Rookwood." His lips twisted as he continued. "Not that I would know any of this first hand, because Travers hit me with a stray stunning spell, the moron. I suppose I should just be glad it was not a Killing Curse, as with Fanner. Thankfully, he had enough of his wits about him to take me with him when he Disapparated."

Severus' heart had never hammered against his ribs quiet this hard. "So, Lily…she…. W-we have her then?" He hadn't meant to sound so affected, so worried, and Lucius rewarded his transparency with a look of disgust.

"No, we don't have her," he said. "That's what I'm getting to. The Dark Lord tried Abernathy first, naturally. But then Bellatrix lost her temper with the old woman—you know how she is. After Abernathy was dead, the Dark Lord had no choice but to give the Mudblood a chance." Lucius readjusted his arm and winced in pain. "Instead the bitch burned your notes and exploded her cauldron. The Dark Lord and all three Lestranges are covered in chemical burns. She also broke Bella's nose, and escaped in the confusion."

Severus tried to release the breath he had been holding slowly, but Lucius' gaze was shrewd.

He sat forward, his long, blonde hair uncharacteristically disheveled. "A word of advice, my friend, if I may." Severus could see the anger in Lucius' eyes. "Whatever your attachment to that girl, abandon it. Aside from the _revolting_ impurity of her heritage, she made some very powerful enemies tonight, and you are on thin enough ice as it is."

This was news not entirely unexpected (there is always a reason one is not invited to a party), but its confirmation was deeply worrisome.

"Severus, there are many who view your recruitment as a disappointment, even a disaster. You have not had success in any mission given to you, and this very evening may blow some debris your way. There are some that say your failure is the reason we had to resort to these measures in the first place. I hardly need add that your botched assignments also reflect on _me_."

The younger man looked down.

"I vouched for you, and you have repaid that kindness with embarrassment," Lucius growled. "We are friends, Severus, but that may not remain the case if you do not correct your course."

Severus' face was hot. His greasy hair had fallen in his face, but he did not push it back behind his ears as he would have normally; he appreciated the curtain between himself and his advocate. He did, however, manage to nod. He wanted to demonstrate to Lucius that he had heard the counsel.

After a moment, the tall, battered man sighed with exhaustion and heaved himself to his feet. "I am going upstairs. I need sleep."

For a moment, Severus didn't move. He debated whether or not to stop his friend, or to wait until morning. As Lucius reached the door, Severus made up his mind.

"Wait," he called out. He reached for two folded and sealed letters in parchment that had sat on his worktable all day. He held them out. "These came for you, from your wife."

An expression of sadness, of longing, came over Lucius as Severus kept his offering extended. Slowly, as if he didn't want to, as if it were psychologically painful to do so, Lucius took the letters from his outstretched hand.

"Go home," Severus blurted.

Lucius looked at him in surprise.

"We have no interrogations right now, no mission. Just a few potions to make, and I can handle that on my own. We can get by without you. Go home, spend the night with your wife."

Lucius didn't seem to know what to say to that. He was hesitating. "Are you certain you don't need me here?"

Rather than answer, Severus said softly, "They leave. Women, when you don't treat them well, they leave. That's been my experience anyway. Just a little advice."

After Lucius left, Severus sank into the chair by the fire, his head in his hands.

How had he managed to make such a mess of things? And this was serious; to fall out of favor with Voldemort was to court death.

When he had told the Dark Lord the Emerald Potion was impossible to reconstruct, he had been fresh with guilt and defeat from his Potions Master project being stolen. Sirius Black foaming blood from his mouth had been a vivid, tangible memory. He was sick with the idea of becoming a murderer, and so he had bluffed. He'd told his master that the potion was out of reach, because he could not bear the thought of lives on his conscience.

What a difference a year made.

Now, not only was Severus a murderer multiple times over, but it turned out his decision had led to yet more deaths. Those who had died tonight had died for his lie. Dominic Yaxley, Irene Abernathy, Alfred Fanner—even Finlay McKinnon, he bore a large portion of responsibility for their deaths. Not only that, his squeamishness toward brewing one little potion had placed Lily in the path of those she should never have had to meet.

_This was not the plan._ That was becoming Severus' mantra. _Not the plan._

There was only one thing he could do that would get things back on track. He was going to have to brew the Emerald Potion.

* * *

><p>"We know this is difficult, Miss Evans. It's almost over. We just have a few more questions." The Auror's name was Dearborn and he had kind eyes.<p>

Lily nodded, her arms were wrapped around herself tightly and she was bouncing a little on her heels. She was eager to get back to James. Even though she was now in a well lit room of St. Mungo's Hospital and the Aurors did not seem untrustworthy, she didn't quite feel safe. She didn't like letting James out of her sight. He was so helpless right now, and when she had left his hospital room for this interview he had still not regained consciousness.

She swallowed her worry and focused on the question Dearborn had just asked her, reciting her experiences of the night while his quill scratched against parchment. James was with Sirius, she told herself. Sirius would not allow anything to happen to him.

The questions kept coming and coming, and Lily answered them mechanically, unable to connect emotionally with what had happened. It was too soon to let that horror in. When finally it was over, Dearborn released her with an understanding smile.

"You are a very brave woman, Miss Evans. Thank you for the information you have provided. It was most helpful. If you think of anything else, you can come see me." He passed her an embossed card with his office number within the Ministry.

She took the card, though she knew she would not be contacting him.

After she was released from her interview in the empty spare room, she walked briskly down the hall to the open door where James waited.

"Is he awake yet?"

Sirius' face was grim. "No. Not yet."

Lily sat in the chair beside his. He was slumped forward, his fingers tented and resting against his mouth.

They sat in silence for almost twenty minutes. In that time, a Healer came in to do a check on James, but he did not stir.

Lily heard a faintly ragged breath beside her, and her eyes darted to Sirius. He was shaking, struggling bodily to hold back misery. The skin of his face was ruddy with emotion.

He saw Lily staring at him and he rose with volatile energy.

"Padfoot…?"

He kicked the chair he had just been sitting in. "I'm a shit, you know that, Evans? I'm a goddamned bastard."

She didn't know what to say. "This…this isn't your fault, Sirius."

His expression was wild. "No, it's not. Tonight was a fucking nightmare, and that isn't my fault. James is in a hospital bed—not my fault. But you know what just might be? Where's Melody? Where's Pete? Have you seen them? Have you been able to get a straight answer from any of these bloody Aurors? Because I haven't."

She tried to speak but he didn't let her.

"They were with me, Lily. They were right there with me. And then…Mel just wasn't. You know what I did about that? Nothing. I planned to find her, sure, but the result, that's the same either way, isn't it? I did _nothing_. And you know what? That's still better than what I did for Wormy. I _sent him out there_. He didn't want to go, he was _terrified_, and I made him go. The fuck is wrong with me? What kind of friend does that?"

She was shaken, fundamentally. Lily had never seen Sirius like this. His words were all fury, but his face…he was crying.

Lily jumped to her feet and did the only thing she could think to do. She hugged him, tightly. He was limp for a moment, and then his whole body seemed to sag further.

He buried his face in her hair to hide his weeping, and she heard him distinctly whimper, "I'm a shit. I'm such a shit."

"No, no you're not, love," she reassured. "You're not."

She held him for several long minutes, and she cried, too. It felt good to cry. Her heart ached with uncertainty and powerlessness. She couldn't make James wake up. She didn't know where Melody or Peter was. But Sirius was right here and comforting him was the one thing she could do.

"Oh god, how bad is it?"

Lily lifted her head from Sirius' shoulder and cast her gaze toward the door.

Remus Lupin was standing there with the expression of someone who had been punched in the gut. He wore gray robes, which hung in a tattered fashion over his red trainers, and his skin was pale. Thirty six hours ago, there had been a full moon, and he was a little worse for wear.

Sirius coughed noisily and turned to face the wall, composing himself and hiding his face.

Lily wiped her cheeks dry while meeting Remus' eyes. "It's bad," she admitted, and just saying the words was excruciating. "But we won't know how bad until he wakes up." She swallowed the sharp lump in her throat. "Also, Melody and Peter are missing. They may have been taken."

Remus' eyes were uncomfortably wide and they kept darting to Sirius, who he was regarding as though he were a three-headed horse. It was obvious he was every bit as alarmed by Padfoot's emotional state as Lily was.

"What can I do?" he offered.

But suddenly Lily was stuck by how haggard he looked. He had probably spent the entire day in bed, recovering from the previous night. She ignored his question. "Have you eaten?"

He was taken aback by the query, but he managed to shake his head.

"I'm going down to get chamomile tea for Sirius. If you stay with him and James, I will bring you up a tray of food," she said it with a smile of encouragement.

"I'm fine," came Sirius' gravelly voice from the corner.

"No, you're not," she said in a tone that was kind, but uncompromising. "I'm getting the tea, and you'll bloody well drink it."

Remus nodded in agreement.

Lily walked to James. She touched his warm arm with her hand and bent to kiss him on the lips. She blinked rapidly, then exited the room.

She walked toward the lift at a brisk pace and did not look back. She still felt a drive, a need to be near James, but it was also harder than she could have imagined possible. And Sirius…it was too much to see him break down. Nothing ruffled him, everything was a joke.

She needed to breathe.

The next thing she knew, Lily found herself staring at an assortment of pre-wrapped sandwiches without being entirely certain how she got there. What would Remus like? For Merlin's she'd only sat at the same table with him for meals for the past seven years. Corned beef…did he like that? Did anyone?

"Doesn't look appetizing at all, does it?"

Lily startled and looked up. Marlene McKinnon was standing beside her. She was now wearing a man's evening jacket over her cocktail dress and her makeup had streaked. Her smile was tired.

"Hell of day."

Lily nodded. Her eyes fell to where the woman's arms showed pale against the black, rolled up sleeves of the jacket, and she remembered what Sirius had told her.

"Your friend, is he okay?"

Marlene nodded. "Nothing permanent, but he'll be here a while."

"I'm sorry."

The taller woman shrugged. "It's not your fault he can't duel for shit."

Lily cracked a smile she did not feel.

"So," Marlene said, directing her attention back to the food selection, "I was thinking that you and I should take the last two ham sandwiches and swap their price tags with the chicken."

This time Lily couldn't stop a laugh. Merlin, it was like shopping with Sirius. Lily did, in fact, take the ham, but she paid the correct price for it. She also purchased a banana, a jug of pumpkin juice, and, of course, the promised chamomile tea.

"I've read your friend's thesis on uses of Wolf's Bane," Lily broke the silence in the lift. "His ideas are quite brilliant."

"I suppose so. Honestly, I don't understand most of it. Fin and Benjy used to go on and on, but I tuned it out mostly."

Lily was surprised. "I thought you brewed as well."

With a slight scoffing chuckle, Marlene shook her head. "Lord no. Got a 'P' on my O.W.L.s in that. Fin brewed, not me."

"Oh." Lily had completely misjudged the woman based on her fingernails. "What do you do?"

"I'm a mechanic. Work with my dad in his garage."

Lily blinked. That was not what she had expected at all. "You mean…?"

"Like a Muggle, yeah." Marlene said it in almost a clipped fashion, defensive.

"I'm Muggle-born," Lily said quickly. "I love the Muggle world. It was just unexpected, that's all. I just mean, after Hogwarts, most people…."

"Forget where they came from?" Marlene supplied.

Lily wouldn't quite phrase it that way. She considered herself grounded in that respect, but she was currently searching for employment within the wizarding world. A career in the Muggle one had never even occurred to her.

Marlene shrugged. "I'm a witch, make no mistake. I carry a wand, I don't wash my dishes by hand or any kind of barmy thing like that. But I like my Muggle job. I like my flat in Muggle London. I like my Muggle motorbike. It's who I am."

They had reached the room where Benjy Fenwick was recovering. He was propped up in bed with several pillows, but he had dozed off and was snoring almost comically loud.

After a moment, Marlene said, "Well, this is new."

"You didn't know he snored?" Lily asked, the shadow of a smile on her face.

"He was my husband's best mate. Be pretty fucked up if I knew that," she quipped, shaking her head. "Silly arse," she said with affection. Then she unceremoniously dropped the tray of food on a table, and collapsed into a wooden chair.

Lily said goodbye, then heaved a shaky breath and moved down the hall five more doors to where James waited. She was bracing herself to go back to what she had left.

A Healer was in the room, speaking to Sirius and Remus, blocking her view of the bed. And then she heard James' voice.

Lily all but dumped the try in Remus' lap and lunged for the hospital bed. The Healer turned around and stayed Lily's forward momentum.

She glared at Lily as though she were a nuisance. "Don't touch him," she warned. "The aftershocks of the curse will make physical contact very painful."

Lily deflated, but then she caught sight of James. His hazel eyes were open and that was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. He smiled at her brashly, obviously suffering, but too happy to see her to repress the grin.

"For how long?" Lily asked breathlessly, without thinking, never taking her gaze from James.

"Oh for fuck's sake." Sirius threw up his hands. "Would you two give it a rest already?"

Lily wrinkled her nose and almost scolded Padfoot for his dirty mind, but then found herself too happy that he was himself to care. James was awake and Sirius was telling inappropriate jokes—Lily was giddy.

"At least a week," the Healer said. "The good news, is that there doesn't seem to be mental damage. You are very lucky, Mr. Potter."

"Always am."

"There will be lasting effects." She was not pleased with his cocky demeanor. "You should rest tonight, and I will visit tomorrow to talk about your potions regimen and what you should expect in the coming weeks." She glowered over the top of her spectacles. "You should send your friends home so that you actually rest."

"I'm not going anywhere," Lily blurted at the same time that James said, "She's not leaving."

"The fuck, Prongs!" Sirius cried. "What am I? A flobberworm on your shoe?"

The Healer clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "I can see that you are wonderful at taking direction, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, you are past your crisis point and visiting hours are over. No friends or girlfriends."

"She's my wife."

The room was utterly silent following James' lie. He had said it with his face completely straight, no hesitation. Sirius' expression was mutinous while Remus looked uncomfortable and Lily tried not to show her surprise.

"Very well. She may stay." The woman didn't look entirely convinced, but seemed to have decided to abandon the fight. "Say your goodbyes," she instructed Remus and Sirius, "and I will see you in the morning, Mr. Potter."

After she left, Padfoot whapped James across the back of the head. This caused James to shout in pain, and Lily and Remus to scold him. Remus even hit him back in the same fashion.

"You couldn't have said, 'She's my wife, and oh, that's my brother?'"

James raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell would believe that we're brothers?"

"We are brothers," Padfoot argued. "Who the hell would believe that _she_ married _you_?"

Lily did not approve, "Sirius, that's just mean." She didn't like that James actually looked bothered.

"Sorry love, but you are way out of his league."

She sighed in exasperation; he was such a dramatic creature. Lily walked around the bed to where Sirius stood. She squeezed him and spoke gently. "I will take care of him, keep him safe. He'll be here in the morning, and he loves you very much, so stop saying nasty things to him."

"Thanks, mum," Sirius said sarcastically. All the same, he seemed to relax a bit in her arms.

"Oi! Let go of my wife," James barked.

Lily rolled her eyes and moved to the table, where Remus had left his food. She bundled it up in a bag for him to take, listening to the boys say their farewells behind her.

"It was nice to see you," she told Remus with a smile as she gave it to him.

She thrust the foam cup of tea into Sirius' hand. "Please, drink it."

Padfoot leaned in and whispered in her ear. "If things take a turn, holler," and he pressed a small cosmetic mirror into her hand.

She nodded. "See you in the morning."

When they were gone, Lily gave her full attention to James. She fussed over his pillows and making sure that he had enough water in the glass at his bedside. She stopped when caught her hand in his own.

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Of course. I've no plans to leave this room."

He shook his head. "That's not what I meant."

Realization dawned. "In the bed with you?"

He nodded.

"Won't that be very painful? The Healer said—"

"I don't give a damn what the Healer said. I don't care how bad it hurts. Lily, tonight…. I thought…" he was struggling for words, and Lily was grateful when he couldn't bring himself to finish. She understood his meaning perfectly, but articulating those thoughts, those fears was just too much for right now. "I won't be able to sleep if you aren't next to me," he said instead.

"All right."

Lily closed the door, extinguished the light, and then stripped down to her chemise. Her dressrobes were simply too uncomfortable for sleeping.

When she climbed carefully into bed beside James, she heard him hiss and felt him jerk in pain. Immediately, she moved to climb back out, but James threw an arm around her pulled her in tightly. His eyes were closed and he was gritting his teeth—she could see the agony in his features, illuminated by the light from the window, but he did not loosen his grip and so she remained where she was.

After several minutes his breathing began to even out and his eyes opened.

"Are you okay?"

There was a shadow of a grin on his face, "It's not so bad if you wait it out. Though I am afraid that shagging is definitely out of the question."

Lily kissed the fingers of the hand that rested on her shoulder. "I can wait."

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you, too."

And then Lily tried to sleep. One of her hands rested over James', the other clutched her wand.

In the early hours of the morning, the door to the hospital room creaked open and Lily almost fired off a curse before reason came to her. She was glad, too, because the man who entered was a familiar and very welcome face.

"Peter?"

The young man looked as though he'd been dragged behind a horse and smelled just as bad. His eyes were red and his face was smeared with dried tears and snot.

"Hi, Lily."

* * *

><p>Narcissa was in deep sleep when she felt a hand caress the side of her face.<p>

Wakefulness came to her with a smile pulling at her lips; the touch was familiar. "Mmm…. My love."

Then lips on her forehead.

Narcissa opened her eyes, and the joy flooding through her abruptly banked. Lucius had never looked more dirty, more tired, more haunted. His robes were stained with blood, his arm was bandaged and bleeding through, his hair was matted and coming free from the knotted bow at the nape of his neck.

She was breathless. "What happened to you?"

He was shaking his head before she even finished the sentence. "I can't tell you."

He had given her the speech before. It wasn't safe for her to know Death Eater business. It wasn't safe to be a liability to the Dark Lord.

She bit her tongue, and instead of arguing with him, traced the lines of his face with her fingers. It was hopeless, really. There was only so much she could do.

She decided on a course of action. "Let's get you a bath."

Narcissa rose from the bed, donned her white silk dressing gown, and rang the bell for the House Elf. It was either Cobble or Teensy who answered the call; she could not tell them apart. The Elf filled a giant claw foot tub with steaming water, and then assisted Narcissa with redressing the wound while her husband soaked.

The pit of her stomach turned when she saw the wound. It was some kind of awful animal bite, and an unwelcome thought occurred to her: there had just been a full moon.

"This isn't a werewolf bite, is it?" Her voice was gentle, but her eyes flashed as she spoke, communicating clearly that an honest answer was expected.

He shook his head. "No, just a dog."

She accepted his word and continued. After the new bandages were in place, Narcissa sent away the Elf with the sullied ones, as well as Lucius' ruined robes.

She washed his hair tenderly, massaging his scalp. He vocalized appreciation, but was also making noises that indicated his body was creaking with discomfort as he moved. She pressed a kiss into his scalp once the hair had been rinsed, then rose to her feet. She dropped her dressing gown and peignoir to the floor, then climbed into the tub with her husband.

Narcissa washed his skin gradually and placed kisses all over his face, his neck, shoulders, chest—any flesh she could reach above the waterline. All this done in silence; he did not speak and she took the cue from him that now was not the time for conversation.

Her heart swelled with worry, it ached as it pounded. The man in this bath with her was so altered from he that she had married. This war was doing things to him, by degrees, and while he was out of her sight.

She felt his maleness stir beneath her as she washed him, and she nurtured that. She began to kiss his mouth, more passionately than she had before. Soon she was lowering herself into his lap; it was almost a high of a spiritual kind when he filled her. She had been apart from him for so long, it couldn't help but be heartrending to finally join with him again.

But he stopped her, stilled her hips.

"Cissa," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I can't. I just can't."

He had the oddest look on his face. He looked lost. There was longing and defeat in his features. Indiscernible and unsettling at the same time. She found herself unable to tell whether or not he was on the verge of crying. It was an expression she had never seen on another human being, much less the man she had loved since she was thirteen.

"I can't make love to you. I just…" he faltered.

Narcissa was crushed. She didn't know what to say—she didn't even know that such a situation as this was even possible. Her mother had given her many talks about what to do when a man was too forward, when a boy pushed her for sex. Sex was all boys wanted, she had been told that for years, and Narcissa was beautiful. She'd never lacked for male attention, never had any reason to doubt that sex was something all males wanted from her. Lucius, in particular, had always been deliciously randy with her. She'd had no preparation for this.

Suddenly, she felt shame, heat creeping to the skin of her face. She could not meet Lucius' eyes. Her hands reached for the lip of the tub on either side of her, and she moved to brace herself, to rise off of his body, but the hand of his unbandaged arm sloshed through the water and gripped her waist.

"No," he said. "Please stay. Please…let me stay inside you."

And then she found herself not knowing quite what to do, but Lucius took care of that. He pulled her against him, so that they were lying chest to chest in the slowly cooling water, her face nestled into the crook of his neck and shoulder. She could still feel him pulsing inside her, though not as large as he had been a moment ago. Narcissa found herself lulled by the sound of his hair dripping water onto the tiled floor. This, she decided, was actually quite lovely. She felt very close to him, his warmth, his pulse.

He drew in a deep breath and when he spoke again, it was with the conviction of one who had made a decision. "I can't do this, Cissa. Not anymore."

Her eyes widened, though she did not raise her head.

"I know it's selfish, but…I can't do this anymore. I can't have this wall, these secrets—it just makes it feel like you're in a world apart from me. That's…that's not…. I need to feel like you're my wife again, my friend."

Narcissa felt her eyes prick and fill.

"Can you keep secrets, Cissa? Foul secrets? Secrets that would mean your death if it got out that I told you?" he sounded pained as he asked her.

"Yes," she breathed, her heart light with relief, with love. "Yes, I can."

His Adam's apple bobbed against her forehead as he swallowed heavily. "All right. I'm going to tell you everything."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> It's only been a week since I last updated, and I started this chapter immediately afterward, so it might seem like it came together easily. But honestly, it didn't feel that way while I was working on it. Writing a chapter that is, essentially, all dialogue is pretty draining, especially when emotions are running this high for all of the characters. I hope you guys enjoyed the fallout from chapter 3.

I usually have notes citing research or illuminating decisions I made, but I don't really have much for this chapter. Just that, I know Bellatrix calls Narcissa "Cissy", but I didn't want Lucius to call her that. "Cissa" just seemed more feminine, less precious.

Thank you guys for reading. Please review! I love getting them, and I always respond.


	6. Seven Stars, Heaven's Eyes

****Disclaimer:** The characters and situations of _Harry Potter_ depicted in this story are the legal property of J. K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, and AOL Time Warner, and have been used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.

****Warning:** this chapter contains a graphic and detailed (L/J) sexual encounter.

* * *

><p>"<em>Half moon on night time sky,<br>__Seven stars, heaven's eyes.  
><em>_Seven songs on seven seas  
><em>_Just to bring all your sweet love home to me_."  
>Janis Joplin<br>"Half Moon" (1971)

**Chapter 05: Seven Stars, Heaven's Eyes**

Today was better than most days, James thought. It didn't hurt to move unless he did so suddenly, thus each step was deliberate.

Things actually had been getting better, steadily, over the past several weeks. It was difficult to remember that when he was hobbling and wincing through his routine, but he _was_ healing. He could touch Lily, even make love to her if he'd taken a pain suppressing potion beforehand. It was slow progress but he would patch up; the Healer said within another two months he would be physically back to normal. The nightmares on the other hand, she said, he likely have for the rest of his life.

James would bolt awake at night at least three times a week, drenched in sweat, the sound of his own screams ringing in his ears. He could never seem to recall the dreams.

Lily was a saint—of course she was. She hadn't left his side at the hospital more than an hour here and there, and she nursed him at home. Helped him walk, helped him bathe, rescued him from Sirius' cooking. When he awoke violently in the night, it was her voice that brought him back to concrete reality, her voice that told him unequivocally that he was safe.

She and Sirius made sure that he was never alone, watched over him in shifts. Sirius had been reading the _Seven Tragic Plays of Merlin_ to James aloud, acting out all the parts with relish—even Guinevere. Especially Guinevere. He had even roped Moony into helping, though he continuously made Remus be Galahad, and then inserted arbitrary jokes about celibacy into the play, always at moments of high drama. Lily had alternately been Morgana and Lancelot, while Peter, during his visits, was made to be Mordred and, once, Merlin. Eventually James had begged them to stop, which had been deeply resented because Padfoot had really wanted to do Arthur's death scene. Now during Sirius' shifts the two of them played chess, which James frequently lost. Sometimes James did Transfiguration proofs while Sirius made him help with the daily crossword.

It was nice that his friends loved him so much, and this hovering was a powerful demonstration of that. Much as it may be needed, even required by the hospital, James rankled under their care. He felt embarrassed, powerless. He hated being coddled and babied, and it occasionally put him in a pretty foul temper. He'd snapped at his girlfriend and best mate more than he would care to admit in the past weeks. He didn't feel so guilty when it came to Sirius, because his friend just snapped back, then turned the whole thing into a joke. Lily seemed to take it a little more personally sometimes, and that made him feel like a real git. He was resolved to buy her a gift today while he was out, though really nothing could measure up to what she had given him.

Besides, it was almost her birthday, and later today, she was going to have to suffer through her sister's wedding.

He was on his first excursion since that awful Friday in December. Finally he was strong enough to venture on his own, and it was a much needed break from company. It was also a rebellion, for James had not disclosed everywhere that he was going today.

James pushed open a heavy door and entered the Leaky Cauldron. The old pub was lit only by the daylight filtering through a few windows leading to Diagon Alley. It was sparsely populated save for the usual crowd of old men arguing about politics in the corner; it was too early for lunch.

He was scanning the faces in the pub, trying to determine if any of them were the man he was here to meet.

"James? James Potter?"

James looked to his left and saw a wizard at a table near the window. He was handsome, in fact, he cut quite a dashing figure in his black robes—the perfect picture of a hero. It was powerful, the idea of what this man was, and James had blindly striven to embody it himself.

He limped forward, leaning on the cane that he hated as he moved to join the young man at the table. He sighed with relief as he sank into the chair. "How are you, Frank?"

Frank Longbottom studied him. "Better off than you are, I expect."

James shrugged bitterly.

"I was surprised to get your letter. I thought we would be meeting at the office, later this week."

With a nod, James said, "I'd like to cancel that interview."

Frank looked puzzled, and he withdrew a roll of parchment from his satchel. "I already wrote up my recommendation of you to the Auror Academy."

James was taken aback. Frank, the Head Boy of his fourth year, had had little love for the Marauders and their antics. James had received at least six detentions at the hands of this bloke, and lost Merlin knew how many House points.

Frank saw his confusion, and supplied an explanation. "Dumbledore speaks very highly of your performance as Head Boy."

_All five and a half months that he actually did his job?_ James doubted very much that he had provided anything approaching an exemplary performance of that position.

"I'm honored," James said, "but I must decline." Frank's brows knit and he opened his mouth to speak but James cut him off. "I'm aware that your office has been very understanding of my circumstances and has already moved the appointment once to give me a chance to regain my health. I'm sorry, but I'm just no longer interested in becoming an Auror."

Frank considered him for a moment before nodding slowly. He replaced the parchment in his bag. "I've been told the Cruciatus Curse can be quite traumatic."

At this James' eyes narrowed and he became defensive. "I'm not _scared_, Longbottom. Just disgusted. Yes, the Cruciatus Curse is a nasty bit of work, it's evil. It was illegal and it should have stayed illegal. I just can't countenance the use of it on another human being, and I have no interest in a career that would ask that of me."

James was full of righteous anger, but also felt a shame, a self-consciousness. He was very aware of the fight he'd had with Lily less than a month ago. Her words had echoed through his days following the torture he'd endured, and he took them now as his own. But Lily _had_ been right. The Unforgivables had no business in being cast from his wand. It ran counter to who he was—or, who he was _trying_ to be, at least.

Frank froze, and James could tell he had struck a nerve. "In that case, Potter, we will withdraw your request for admission."

"Thank you."

Frank rose and gathered up his cloak and satchel.

"You're angry," James observed with some bemusement. "You can't have wanted me in the Academy, not really."

Frank raised a brow. "You personally? Not terribly. But we are short of manpower, outnumbered, and I have a vague memory of you being clever. We could do worse in our recruitment."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"Not at all. It is a somewhat surreal experience, I must admit, to be lectured by a spoiled bully about the moral way to treat others."

* * *

><p><em>Is it true? <em>

That was the entire letter from Pilar. It was as though, even from such a distance as Spain, the mere idea of Melody McGonagall's death was simply too overwhelming for words. Lily rather agreed, and found herself equally at a loss as to how to respond.

The funeral had been awful, somehow worse than that of her own parents. Perhaps it was the harsh juxtaposition of the two. Melody had been at her side during the burial of Lily's parents. Or maybe it was that Melody had been so young, so jarringly close in age to Lily. But, probably, it was the violence of the thing.

Lily had not seen Melody's body, and according to the halting and tearful account given to her by Peter, that was something for which to be grateful. Poor Peter. Lily had barely seen him since the night he had come to see her and James at the hospital. Once or twice, Sirius had dragged him to participate in the theatricals the friends were putting on to entertain James, but Remus had told Lily in confidence that Peter had barely left his mother's house in the last month.

The Aurors still had not released an official statement as to what had happened to Melody and the others that had been found in the same room. All that anyone would say was that it was part of an ongoing investigation. Nonetheless Lily knew was that her friend had died in horrific circumstances—that she had been tortured, dismembered.

In the past few years, the war had seemed almost at a distance, a drama that was playing out elsewhere. Her holidays were spent in the Muggle world, and the rest of her time within the safety of Hogwarts, so it may have been fair to say that Lily was sheltered. Last year, when Pilar's father had been murdered, it had been a rude awakening, and one that brought a wave of fear into her temperament. The war was real and it was scary. Last month, Lily had experienced another transformation. She could no longer say that the war was merely frightening. Lily had never considered herself to be an angry person, but she could feel something unwholesome, something rancid, simmering inside her. James tortured, Melody murdered—these Death Eaters were awakening a shadowy aspect to Lily.

Lily folded the letter, which she had picked up and read probably eight times, and replaced it where it had sat on James' desk. There was pile of unanswered correspondence waiting there, mostly from James' parents.

James had insisted that no one tell his parents that he had been tortured or injured. He had told an elaborate fib to get out of visiting for Christmas, which had only resulted in about ten owls from his mother anyway.

Lily hadn't approved. She appreciated that James wanted to spare his parents worry, that he did not wish to be interrogated, but…what she wouldn't give for one more Christmas with her parents. James was being wasteful with his time, Lily couldn't help but think.

So the two of them had passed a quiet Christmas in their flat alone; Sirius had spent the entire day with James' parents, which made Lily feel less guilty at least. James said very little on the subject, and honestly would not have been up to much anyway. At the time, his pain had been so extreme that he was taking potions every six hours and sleeping most of the day.

"Prongs already leave?" came a voice from the door. Padfoot never knocked, even though he must know he was playing a game of roulette. He hadn't walked in on Lily and James in flagrante yet, but it was only a matter of time.

She nodded.

"I'm going to the market for some food. Do you two need anything?" he asked.

Lily considered, but shook her head. She was out of cigarettes and it was driving her mad, but she would never ask him to buy her that. Besides, she intended to stop; she didn't want to take up her father's old habit permanently.

Sirius studied her. "Are you all right, love?"

"Just tired," she said with a faint smile. It was the truth; she'd been sleeping just fine, but the exhaustion remained nonetheless. It went deeper than that, a spiritual fatigue.

"Well, with James out, you could probably get some sleep."

But Lily was already reaching for her cloak and shaking her head. "Actually, I was planning to go see Marlene."

"I'll go with you," Sirius said immediately.

Lily chuckled at his transparency. "What about the market?"

"Pretty sure it'll be there later."

Lily might have pushed back if she thought that Marlene would actually mind, but she didn't. So the two of them locked up their flats and Apparated across town.

Lily had been spending some of her snatches of free time there in recent weeks. She knew that she was grieving, that she was reacting to the death of her friend by clinging to the nearest friendly woman she found. But Marlene did not seem to notice or care. She was uniquely suited to understand Lily's current emotional state, and the two of them did get on very well.

Marlene, her son Lachlan, and her father Mr. Spenser, lived above the family garage. It was small, but homey, and fully wired for electricity. Marlene's father was a Muggle and it was his place. Her mother had been a witch, but she had left when her child was only three years old and Marlene did not remember her.

The family might have been able to free up some space if they emptied a back room that had served as Finlay's lab, but that door remained shut and no one spoke of it.

Lachlan answered the door when they knocked. He greeted Lily and shyly shrank behind the door at the sight of Sirius. When Lily asked where his mum was, he pointed to the kitchen.

The garage was closed today, but Marlene's hands were still smeared with engine grease. The top part of her overalls had been shed and tied around her waist revealing a black vest and bare skin decorated with two or three tattoos. Her kitchen table had been commandeered for her work and was strewn with grimy metal parts and tools.

She seemed amused by Sirius' presence. "You following me, Black?"

He shrugged. "Clearly."

Lily looked back and forth between the two. "I hope it wasn't too presumptuous to let him come with me, I just thought…."

Marlene waved off Lily's concerns. "Oh, it's fine! Black and I go way back, been in a firefight together haven't we?" And then Lily was astonished to see Marlene smile in a winning way that one might almost classify as flirtatious. "Either of you want a beer?"

Sirius immediately answered in the affirmative, but Lily declined.

"What is this rubbish?" Sirius had walked up to the table and was examining the metal parts lying on the tarp while Marlene opened two beers.

"A carburetor," she answered. "Goes in my old Royal Enfield."

Padfoot looked at her like she had just spoken gibberish.

"A motorbike," Lily supplied, but then she doubted herself and wished she hadn't spoken. She didn't know much about this kind of thing, just things she'd heard over the years.

It must have shown on her face because Marlene nodded encouragingly at her. "No, you're right, love. It is a motorbike—military issue from the forties. My granddaddy, shall we say, _liberated_ it after the war. He gave it to me when I turned seventeen. She's been running a bit rough lately, so I'm giving her engine a tarting up."

Sirius was still studying all of the pieces as if he didn't know what to make of them. "It just looks like a bunch of grubby metal to me. Not very sanitary to have on a table, I think," he said as Marlene handed him the beer bottle.

"Well, thank you for volunteering to help polish, Black." She was extending a rag toward him before he was even done with his first swig. He just stared at it, but then she raised an eyebrow that was without doubt a challenge, and he took it from her.

Lily watched in amusement as he sat at the table. He cleared his throat. "So…what are we doing?"

Marlene sat across from him. "_I'm_ replacing the accelerator pump. _You're_ going to use that cleaner and make all those little metal bits shine."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily saw a small head inching his way toward the kitchen. She was already acquainted with how introverted Lachlan was. Marlene was aware of him as well, in that almost preternatural way that mothers had, even though he was not yet in her line of sight.

"Don't be shy, Lach. Come here, my love."

The boy rounded the corner properly and went to his mother, who embraced him with her arms, but kept her dirty hands away from his clothes. "Where's your granddad?" she asked him.

"Asleep. Mummy, may I make bread pudding for after dinner?"

Marlene kissed his temple. "Not by yourself. Ask Lily if she will help you."

The small, dark-haired boy approached her and Lily smiled when he asked very politely. She reassured him that she would be happy to help, but then she looked up at Marlene. "Is there a recipe book somewhere? I don't know any off hand."

Marlene nodded at her son. "He does. He's just not allowed to use knives or the oven. Lach will take you through it."

And so he did. He showed Lily where all the materials were. He stood on a stool and measured the ingredients himself with a careful seriousness that seemed to Lily so unlike a five year-old.

Lachlan only spoke when necessary, and that was set against a background of the continuous conversation of Marlene and Sirius at the table, while she explained to him all the finer points of what rebuilding a carburetor entailed, and he complained about cleaning without magic. He actually accused her of being Filch in disguise.

"You are very good at that," Lily said, watching the boy crack eggs and separate yolks with a steady hand.

Lachlan looked up at Lily. "I've been cooking my whole life," he told her with the kind of confidence only a child was capable of. "With my dad," he added belatedly.

Lily found herself at a loss.

"My dad always made this for my mum on Sundays. It's her favorite. So, now I make it, but usually my granddad helps me." He said it the way he said everything, with calm solemnity; she didn't think she had yet seen this child smile.

She found a painful lump growing in her throat.

"That's good, that you take care of your mum. Your dad would like that."

"I know," he said matter-of-factly. "This needs to go in the oven now, Lily."

She placed the pan in the oven while Lachlan set a small mechanical timer.

"Now we need to get the laundry off the balcony," Lachlan told her.

Lily blinked. "We do?"

He nodded. "Mum hung our clothes out to dry this morning, but she forgot them."

She glanced at the table where Marlene and Sirius were still working and in uninterrupted conversation. She decided to go along with the boy—no harm in it. The two of them retrieved and folded the laundry. When they came back in, Marlene smiled at them.

"Lily, you're an angel. You didn't have to."

Lily motioned to her companion. "I'm just helping Lachlan."

"Mum, we're going to put them away. We'll be right back."

Marlene chuckled. "Well, go on then."

Lily was unsurprised to find Lachlan's room to be clean and ordered, but she was slightly so to find Marlene's was as well. Lily just held the basket while Lachlan put the clothing in its proper place.

When he opened the wardrobe in his mother's room, Lily froze, fully arrested by the sight before her. Hanging in neat rows beside Marlene's, without wrinkles, were a man's clothes. Hanging there as though their owner still lived here, as though they would ever be used again. And Lily's heart broke.

* * *

><p>Peter Pettigrew stood outside his home, paralyzed and shivering. His gaze was fixed on the front door.<p>

It had been painted blue in recent years, shortly after his father had passed. A jump rope had been left carelessly on the stoop by his sister's children, as well as a box of chalk. His nieces had visited earlier today, as they did every Sunday.

Peter had grown up here, in this home, with his two elder sisters. He had played outside in this garden for hours. Surrounded on all sides by his mother's many high rosebushes, his childhood playground had always seemed somehow gothic, a place that belonged to the Old World, vaguely sinister in nature. In their childhood games, his sisters had always made Peter be the villain; it seemed the appropriate place to play a villain, as though he were in a painting or a tapestry.

At this moment, the grass, the rosebushes, were shriveled, brittle, and covered in snow. None of that did anything much to lessen the sense of this garden as a place of obscure natural allegiances.

Peter remembered once that his sisters had convinced him to climb the trellis that separated their property from their neighbor, Mrs. Whitstrom, and steal a basket full of the woman's blackcurrants. His hands had retained many wooden splinters from the rickety old trellis, and the berries had stained his fingers.

When Mrs. Whitstrom had spotted him through her window and then come out of her house, yelling, Peter had bolted. He'd darted to the edge of the woman's property, abandoning his basket of contraband in a ditch running with irrigation water, and then hopped in that water himself, riding it right out of danger.

He had tried to sneak home after that, tried to open the door silently, to slip up to his room. But his mother had been waiting in the salon, a teacup in her hand and a scowl on her face, Mrs. Whitstrom seated across from her.

There had been no hope of lying his way out of trouble, no hope for leniency. He was dripping water on his mother's polished floor, evidence of his guilt emblazoned on every part of his body.

His mother had been angry, of course, but that wasn't the worst of it. The worst was that he had embarrassed her.

Peter often embarrassed his mother.

She was such an important and accomplished woman, an analyst for the Ministry, a woman of learning and numbers. She knew everyone who was anyone in Wizarding government, and they respected her. One word from her, and her son had been offered a job in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes without even the formality of an interview.

He knew that his mother loved him. That sense was never in any doubt. But more often than he would like, Peter got the feeling that he was not quite what his mother had expected, that she didn't know quite what to make of him. He hated it when she looked at him that way.

And that was the reason he was currently shaking in the cold outside, waiting for the lights to extinguish.

He was supposed to be at work; right now was the middle of one of his regular shifts, but he had left early, pleading with Fudge that he did not feel well. He had done this often in the last month, and Peter knew that patience was wearing thin, that he was dangerously close to losing his employment.

No one understood. How could they?

He had been confined in a room with dismembered bodies for hours while the Aurors processed the crime scene. He didn't dare dart for the door—people reacted negatively to rats. What if someone had tried to step on him or kill him with their wand? And so Peter had shivered in fear and horror an arm's length away from that pile of…parts. For hours. Trapped. His little paws wet with blood as the puddle spread and spread when the pile was sorted through.

Peter had slept little since, and ate less.

So he was standing in the snow, nose and ears frozen. He couldn't bring himself to be at work behind that desk, waiting for the animals to raise a ruckus because someone, somewhere was being hurt the way the people in that room had been hurt. But he couldn't face his mother either, couldn't tell her that, yes, he was home from work early. Again.

So he'd wait. He'd wait until the light in her room was snuffed, and then another twenty minutes to be sure, before he'd attempt to sneak into his house. He was better at this now than he had been at age nine.

* * *

><p>A wedding, Lily decided, could be a pretty miserable event if it wanted to be. Or maybe everything associated with Petunia just became that way out of sheer contamination.<p>

She was not a bridesmaid, was not, in fact, seated anywhere near the bridal party. After attempting to speak with her sister twice only to be rebuffed, Lily had decided to make the most of the champagne.

She was drinking her fourth flute when James approached with a glass in each hand.

"Well," he said, "I really think that your new brother-in-law and I have turned a corner."

"Yeah?"

"Oh, I think we'll be great friends."

"That bad?"

James downed an entire flute like a shot. "Worse." He stared at his shoes a moment before saying. "I'm sorry, Lily. I tried, but I think I've just made a bigger mess of things." When he looked up, he seemed startled to see her beaming at him.

"Oh, James." She leaned over and kissed him tenderly. "You can be so lovely."

"Well then…no more champagne for you," he said with a half-smile.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm serious. Look at that odious man," she gestured to where her sister and her new husband were seated. The person Vernon was currently conversing with had the look of a man who'd just had the honor of his grandmother questioned. "It's not just you—no one can stand him, but you still tried to make amends. You tried for me, and I love you so much for it."

As she spoke, her voice was not playful, but rather deeply earnest. She knew she was emotional, fresh from the images of loss she had seen in Marlene's flat: the locked door leading to a lab no one used, the clothes in the wardrobe, the wedding ring that had clearly never been removed, even for the filthiest tasks. Lily couldn't help but transpose herself and James into that scenario. What would her life be like without him? If he had died?

Lily found herself acutely appreciative of every moment, a heightened awareness of mortality was thrumming through her every thought. She _would not_ take James for granted.

She reached a pale hand out and caressed the side of his cheek. He flinched.

"Are you all right?" she asked with concern. "Do you need another potion?" She was already reaching for her purse, but he shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. No pain, it's just…" he paused and then he leaned close to her ear, "you are really turning me on."

Lily blushed and then giggled, feeling uninhibited from the champagne. She might have known; James' tendency to get randy at her declarations of love was one of her favorite things. She felt a thrill move down her body at his words, his breath on her ear. Suddenly, she found her nipples were aching.

"James," she breathed, "dance with me."

Mischief was coiling in her eyes, and she watched him react to it. Without a word, he stood and extended his hand toward her. She took it, and they abandoned their table for the dance floor.

It was Petunia's wedding so the music wasn't really anything exciting or fun—her sister didn't know the meanings of those words. But Lily didn't mind; she didn't actually want to dance, she wanted an excuse to have her body close to her boyfriend's, to touch him.

James was wearing a suit, but he couldn't seem to be in formal wear for more than five minutes before looking rumpled. His tie was always crooked and his hair always appeared windswept. She met his lustful gaze with heat of her own, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

She pressed her chest into his and sighed as they began to move. His hand was on her back and she could feel it all too well; the yellow fabric of her dress was thin, and she watched his face as he realized that he could not feel a bra beneath her clothes.

Lily smiled seductively and leaned even closer. "I'm not wearing knickers either."

James made a choked sound, and one of his hands balled fabric of her dress into his hand as he clenched his fist.

Lily was quite pleased with his reaction and refrained from telling him that her reasons had less to do with seduction and more to do with the dress being rather unforgiving when it came to the lines of undergarments, so she was wearing two slips instead.

Honestly, she hadn't thought that James would be up to anything amorous today. After his walk this afternoon, he'd come home exhausted and all but collapsed on their bed for a nap. She had even offered to let him skip the wedding, but he had insisted on coming with, downing about four potions to prepare himself to do so.

For three consecutive songs, James' hands roamed restlessly over her back, her sides, her hips—once or twice he even got bold and went for her backside. Doubtless some of the other wedding guests would be scandalized, but Lily couldn't bring herself to care. Petunia didn't even want her there anyway.

Lily's hand drifted from the back of his neck up to finger the hair above.

Finally, he groaned and rested his forehead against hers. "Lily, we have to stop. I'm getting way too worked up."

"I like you worked up."

He laughed humorlessly. "This really isn't the time or place."

"Why not? I'm sure we could find a little room somewhere."

He halted their dance. "You're serious."

"Of course I am." Lily felt herself flush with arousal under his gaze. "I want you, James."

"All right then," he said with amused submission.

At that, they went in search of an abandoned room, someplace private. Lily walked in front to help hide the most obvious part of James' arousal, and the two of them each stuck their fingers in the frosting of the cake as they passed the back of it. They giggled as they fed it to each other and James moaned when she sucked his finger. They eventually found a darkened, dusty room where extra furniture had been stashed under white sheets. The door had been locked, but was no match for their wands.

Before the door had even closed, James' mouth was on her neck. Lily moaned and leaned into the touch.

"I've wanted to shag you senseless all night. That dress, god you look amazing in that dress." His voice was throaty and primal.

Lily kissed him hard on the mouth, her knees growing faint from his touch. She pushed him backward and into a covered sofa, seated him in the center of the cushion. She followed him, her mouth refusing to part from his, straddling his hips as she kneeled.

She did manage to gasp a command between kisses, however. "Trousers. Off."

Four hands fumbled for his belt, yanked and pulled at fabric until it made its way over his knees and fell to rest atop his shoes. Then James couldn't lift the skirts of her dress and two chemises fast enough. It was evident that neither of them needed foreplay at this juncture.

When Lily lowered herself onto him, eased his heavenly thickness inside of her, it was with a whimper of utmost ecstasy. There was no feeling in the world, Lily thought, quite like being filled and stretched by James. It wasn't merely a physical sensation. The emotions that rose in her were so intense that sometimes she had to blink back tears. This was the opposite of loneliness, a feeling of such wholeness—a melding.

And yet the physicality was comforting as well. James was alive, and there was no greater expression of that than this act. She could even feel the proof of it: the heat, the throbbing pulse, inside her, thumping against her inner walls.

She started slow—she tried to go slow. She didn't want to hurt James after all, to aggravate his injuries. But it became plain almost immediately that James was feeling particularly full-blooded tonight. He wasn't interested in slow.

And just like that, an intensity that Lily had not known she had been repressing burst forth. Her mess of emotions—the grief, the anger, the desperation, the relief—all came to the fore. Without realizing it, she had started to move in his lap like a madwoman. Her fingers clawed into his scalp, she bit his lip in the midst of a kiss.

He grunted in pleasure and grasped her waist in his hands, moving just as furiously beneath her as she was above, ramming his hips upward to meet hers.

"I love you," she groaned, punctuated by pants of pleasure.

He returned her words in kind, repeating them over and over as though they were a prayer.

Her teeth and lips found the exposed flesh of his throat, and she left marks there with abandon.

The fire, the ache where they were joined was at the crescendo now, spiraling, soaring. Lily was crying out as though beyond caring if anyone heard them; James was almost as loud. It had been too long since they had fully exerted themselves with each other.

The peak crested and Lily trembled, full-bodied, James' name breaking from her lips. He followed her over the edge.

And then came the contentment, lethargic and overwhelmingly complete. In this state, Lily always felt that her love for James was manifest, so present as to be tangible—as though they had just raised the incarnation through ritual.

They stayed as they were for several long minutes. James' fingers stroking through her hair, the last of the flowers she had woven into her tresses tumbling to the floor.

Lily sighed. "Let's go home."

"All right. Let's pull ourselves together before we go back out."

"Or…we could just Apparate out of here," Lily suggested.

James pulled back to look at her, a sheen of sweat on his face. "Don't you want to say goodbye to your sister?"

A dozen little emotions and inclinations flittered through Lily at his question. But she didn't voice any of those things. Instead, she just shook her head.

She and James gathered their things and Apparated home. The physical activity was already catching up to James, and they took a shower together so that she could aid him. Then she helped him into a T-shirt, pants, and pajama bottoms so that he would be decent enough to visit Sirius for a few minutes before bed.

While James was across the hall, Lily busied herself with a little tidying, but soon abandoned that. She was not much for housekeeping, and the impulse to clean always wore itself out fairly fast.

She found herself sitting at James' writing desk in their bedroom, holding Pilar's letter once more. She should reply, she really should. And how difficult was it, really? There was only one thing to say.

She opened the letter but was then dismayed to find that there was no quill by the inkwell. She did a quick survey of the room, knowing that James had been working on Transfiguration proofs in their bed. But she saw no feathers sticking out from under parchments or blankets, so she opened the desk drawer. While feeling around inside there, her fingers brushed a trigger of sorts and something sprung inside the drawer. Lily gasped and snapped her hand back as though she'd been burned.

Once her heart stopped pounding, she investigated further. It was a secret compartment. And then she smirked. Of course James' desk had a secret compartment—that was so characteristic of him! The contents of the compartment looked to be magazines, letters, and one blue velvet box. Lily was already looking through the things before it occurred to her just what she was doing, what an invasion of privacy she was exercising. She was such a natural snoop that sometimes she riffled before she thought.

So she closed the compartment and resolved to wait for James, to ask before digging. But fifteen minutes passed without James' return and Lily's brain began to rationalize. The contents of the letters, those were private, obviously. But she could at least see who they were from, and the box was intriguing. She could look without opening, surely.

And so she accessed the compartment once more, only to discover that the letters were a not private at all—at least, not to present company: they were all from her. Lily's own handwriting peeked up from every one of the pieces of folded parchment, most written within the past year. There was even an angry tirade Lily had written James during fourth year detailing how much she despised him. It was strangely heartwarming that he had kept it, but also sad. Lily felt an urge to get rid of it, or to apologize for having written it, even though she knew that he had deserved it at the time.

The magazines were porn. Of course they were porn—three issues of _Naughty Witches Quarterly_ from the past year. Lily set them aside and considered their discovery negligible.

So the only true mystery of the compartment was the blue box. Lily set it atop the desk and studied it. The velvet was worn in some places, but the gold brocade embroidery was beautiful. The secret compartment, the dirty magazines, the letters, those were entirely keeping with James' character, but this box didn't seem like him at all. It wasn't his taste and it was so small, only something reasonably tiny would fit inside, like….

Oh, Merlin….

Like…a _ring_? It wasn't quite the shape of a ring box, but it was the size.

She remembered his joke at the hospital about being married, how readily and comfortably the words "my wife" had fallen out of his mouth….

Lily began to hyperventilate. It couldn't be. How could he be ready for that? They were so young! Eighteen wasn't a sensible age to get married. It was 1979, not the middle ages, for god's sake.

Damn it! She didn't care about privacy anymore—not knowing would torment her. Lily reached out and flipped open the lid. And there it was: a ring.

Lily made a noise of…she didn't know what. She was conflicted. It was a beautiful ring: old—very old, quaint, nothing gaudy or overly polished. The light glittered off the blood-red garnet stone, and the white enamel flower petals appealed to her on the most basic level. But that wasn't why she was conflicted.

The door to the flat opened and closed. Lily did not move to cover her snooping; she may as well be honest.

When James passed through the threshold leaning on his cane and saw her sitting there, the open box before her, he froze, stalk still and eyes wide.

She could see it on his face: yes, the ring was an engagement ring; yes, it was meant for her; no, he hadn't been ready to actually ask her.

And then Lily felt very bad indeed. She had pushed this question forward before either of them were ready with her nosiness. And he looked so vulnerable, so exposed and terrified.

Lily grinned without, at first, realizing that she was doing so. A calm gradually took her, a certainty.

There were no guarantees in this life—next week she could be the sad woman with a dead man's clothes hanging in her closet. Or maybe it would go the other way, maybe she would the one to die. But maybe, just maybe, a long life stretched ahead of both of them, and maybe they could be together in that. All Lily knew was a sense of rightness and giddy happiness at the thought. She loved James. She couldn't fathom ever not loving him, so why pretend there was doubt? Yes, they were young, but _why waste time_?

"Yes," she whispered.

He swallowed heavily. "What?"

"I said yes."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> What's this? Jily smut _and_ an engagement? You're welcome. ; )

Royal Enfield supplied a good number of motorcycles for the countries of the Commonwealth during WWII, and the model that I picked as a picture reference (WD/C0, specifically) widely fell into civilian use after the war. In one forum I visited while doing research, a guy in India shared some pictures and a story about how, after the war, his grandfather had "rescued" his standard issue bike and brought it home. I liked the story, and so appropriated it on behalf of Marlene.

Also, special thanks to my dad, who worked as a mechanic for most of my life and was my expert consultant for the Marlene section, just to make sure that I wasn't talking completely out of my ass.

Thanks for reading. Please review!


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